THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


NEW    CANTERBURY    TALES 


NEW 


CANTERBURY     TALES 


BY 


MAURICE   HEWLETT 

AUTHOR  OF  "RICHARD  YEA-AND-NAY."  "THE  FOREST  LOVERS' 
"  EARTHWORK  OUT  OF  TUSCANY,"  ETC. 


1  Die  mihi,  Damceta,  cujum  pecus  ?    An  Meliboei  ?  " 


Wefo 
THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON :   MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
IQOI 

AU  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1900,  1901, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Norfooob 
J.  8.  Cuihlng  *  Co.  -  Berwick  Jt  Smith 
Norwood  MM*.  U.S.A. 


College 
Libraiy 

PR 


ADVERTISEMENT 

COURTESY  asks  me  to  record  hospitality  offered  by 
the  way  to  most  of  these  tales  :  to  The  Scriveners  by 
the  "  Fortnightly  Review  " ;  to  Captain  BrazenheacFs 
by  the  same  review  and  "  Truth  "  of  New  York ;  to  the 
Prioress  of  Ambresbury's  by  the  same  and  "  Collier's 
Weekly  "  of  New  York ;  to  Richard  Smith's  Tale  by 
"  Harper's  Magazine  "  ;  and  to  Percival  Perceforesfs 
by  the  "  Anglo-Saxon  Review."  Dan  Costard  (wisely, 
as  some  think)  kept  his  story  to  himself;  but  very 
likely  the  wisdom  was  not  his. 


1164877 


QT0 
FREDERIC    HARRISON 

WITH  SINCERE  RESPECT 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


The  Prologue .         I 

The  Scrivener's  Tale  of  The  Countess  Alys        .         9 
Dan  Costard's  Tale  of  Peridore  and  Paravail  .       53 

Captain  Salomon  Brazenhead's  Tale  of  The  Half- 
Brothers          .         .         .         .         .        .         -99 

The  Prioress  of  Ambresbury's  Tale  of  Saint  Ger- 

vase  of  Plessy        .         .         .         .  .     129 

Master  Richard  Smith's  Tale  of  The  Cast  of  the 

Apple 181 

Percival  Perceforest's  Tale  of  Eugenio  and  Gale- 
otto         213 


THE  PROLOGUE 


NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 


THE  PROLOGUE 

PRAY  do  not  suppose  that  Chaucer's  were  the 
only  pilgrims  to  woo  the  Canterbury  way  with 
stories,  nor  that  theirs  was  the  only  road  by  which 
to  seek  the  Head  of  Thomas.  His  people  may 
have  set  the  fashion  and  himself  a  tantalizing 
standard  of  attainment ;  but  that  is  a  poor-hearted 
chronicler  who  withholds  from  a  tale  because 
some  other  has  told  one  well.  I  have  here  the 
diversions  of  a  devout  sodality,  which  followed 
Chaucer's  —  and  in  point  of  time  (remember)  at 
no  such  long  interval.  Their  journey,  however, 
took  longer  to  perform,  their  tales  (for  reasons 
which  I  am  not  bound  to  divulge,  and  shall  not) 
were  reported  in  the  common  speech  of  us  all. 
At  least  in  the  matter  of  roads  —  whether  Canter- 
bury or  entertainment  be  the  end  —  our  primum 
mobile  may  not  engross  the  market.  The  main 
stream  of  piety  was  no  more  his  than  was  Lon- 
don the  well-head  of  England.  All  pilgrims  from 
the  West,  and  all  they  who,  coming  from  oversea, 
touched  our  land  at  Southampton,  journeyed  out 
from  Winchester,  at  Guilford  joined  hands,  after 
that  climbed  the  ridge  of  the  North  Downs  (or 
climbed  it  half),  and  never  left  it  again  until  the 

3 


• 

4  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Medway  chose  that  they  must.  So  doing,  tend- 
ing from  old  English  burgh  to  old  Roman,  they 
followed  a  road  incredibly  older  than  that  from 
London ;  for  long  before  their  day  or  Saint 
Thomas's,  English  feet,  Latin  feet,  British  and 
(if  the  tale  be  true)  Trojan  feet  had  trudged  it, 
bringing  mine  up  from  the  West  to  be  smithied 
in  the  forests  of  Sussex,  then  loaded  into  galleys 
whose  helmsmen  knew  all  the  shoals  at  the  Nore. 
You  may  well  doubt  whether  there  had  been  any 
other  path  for  slave  or  legionary  or  wild  adven- 
turer of  the  North  through  those  impenetrable 
wealden  woods.  My  pilgrims,  then,  took  this 
ancient  road,  assembling  for  the  purpose  at  Win- 
chester, as  nearly  as  possible  upon  the  Feast  of 
Saints  Philip  and  Jacob,  which  was  in  the  year 
of  Christ's  reign  fourteen-hundred  and  fifty,  and 
in  the  twenty-eighth  year  of  that  of  King  Henry 
VI.,  a  pious,  unhappy,  and  nearly  imbecile  monarch, 
quite  damned  in  a  magnanimous  wife. 

The  Prioress  of  Ambresbury  (in  Wilts)  was 
head  and  shoulders  of  this  company,  a  well-pre- 
served, stately  lady,  born  Touchett  of  Bemerton, 
more  tender  than  she  looked  or  her  station  re- 
quired, having  a  quick  spot  in  her  heart  which 
minstrels,  young  women,  and  boys  soon  learned  to 
find.  Travelling  privately,  as  became  her  degree, 
she  brought  with  her  a  numerous  retinue,  of  which 
one  only,  Dan  Costard  her  confessor,  is  of  our 
direct  concern  —  a  loose-skinned  old  man  with 
mild  blue  eyes,  coloured  (as  it  seemed)  by  that 
Heaven  which  he  daily  sought ;  and  another  of 
some  little  interest,  the  immediate  cause  of  pil- 
grimage to  the  whole  party.  This  was  Mistress 


I 

THE  PROLOGUE  5 

Mawdleyn  Touchett,  niece  of  the  Prioress,  daugh- 
ter of  her  brother  Sir  Simon  Touchett  of  Bemer- 
ton,  Knight,  a  very  fine  girl;  whom  Percival 
Perceforest  (Sir  Simon's  footpage)  had  deplor- 
ably loved.  The  fact  discovered  beyond  possible 
denial  —  if  either  had  sought  to  deny  what  exalted 
each  so  much,  —  stripes  and  dismissal  followed 
for  the  youth,  disgrace  and  the  Convent  of  Am- 
bresbury  for  the  young  lady.  While  Percival 
nursed  his  bruised  back  and  wounded  heart  in 
Wiltshire  ditches,  his  beloved  was  schooled  by 
the  nuns,  one  of  whom  was  kinder  than  she 
should  have  been.  Saint  Thomas  beckoned  the 
Prioress  to  Canterbury,  Mawdleyn  was  hooded 
for  the  journey ;  admonished  by  that  too  kindly 
Sister  Petronilla,  Percival  Perceforest  limped 
behind.  How  he  met  with  his  mistress  at  Win- 
chester, what  fortune  he  had,  how  he  was  enabled 
to  be  of  the  party  and  tell  the  tale  which  undoubt- 
edly he  did  tell,  belongs  not  to  this  history,  full 
as  it  is  of  diverting  matter,  but  is  rather  a  history 
of  itself.  I  ask  you  to  be  more  concerned  with 
the  tales  than  the  tellers.  Percival  Perceforest 
(who  was  born  in  Gloucester)  was  a  lady-faced 
youth  with  a  long  nose,  a  sharp  chin,  and  hot 
green  eyes.  He  had  a  very  small  mouth,  and 
knew  most  of  the  Romaunt  de  la  Rose  by  heart, 
as  well  as  the  Songs  of  Horatius  Flaccus. 

Of  Captain  Brazenhead  some  mention  must  be 
made,  of  Captain  Salomon  Brazenhead,  fertile  in 
wiles,  formerly  of  Milan,  late  of  Burgundy,  now  a 
Duke  of  York's  man,  friend  of  the  Captain  of 
Kent.  Of  his  hair,  of  his  nose,  of  his  thirst,  his 
two  scars,  his  notched  forefinger,  his  magnilo- 


6  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

quent  conversation,  I  prefer  to  be  silent  at  this 
time.  He  obtruded  himself  upon  the  notice  of 
the  Prioress  of  Ambresbury,  he  called  himself 
(and  she  believed  him)  her  friend ;  he  was  heart 
and  soul  in  the  trying  business  of  Percival  Perce- 
forest  and  Mawdleyn  Touchett;  he  made  Sister 
Petronilla  dream  dreams  and  tell  a  series  of  fibs : 
all  for  reasons.  What  is  this,  or  what  are  they, 
to  our  purpose  ?  But  that  he  told  a  tragic  tale  of 
Italy  is  certain,  for  here  at  page  102  you  will  find 
it.  Let  that  suffice  of  Captain  Salomon. 

The  Prioress's  pilgrimage  was  performed  apart, 
I  have  said.  This  means  that  she  chose  not  to 
go  at  the  great  pilgrim-seasons  of  Christmas  and 
Midsummer,  when  the  roads  were  full,  the  towns 
hives,  the  chapels  reeking,  the  whole  country-side 
aswarm;  but  rather  in  seclusion,  with  her  own 
servants  about  her,  her  familiar  friends  for  her 
hosts  of  the  night,  and  at  her  journey's  end  space, 
that  so  she  and  Saint  Thomas  might  be  free 
to  hob-nob  together.  This  was  her  desire,  very 
nearly  achieved  —  yet  not  quite.  As  you  know, 
Percival  Perceforest  went  with  her,  and  Captain 
Brazenhead.  At  the  last  moment  three  others 
petitioned  for  her  society  and  comfort  in  terms 
too  humble  to  be  refused.  One  was  a  Scrivener 
of  London,  and  very  timid  man ;  the  other  a  cer- 
tain Master  Smith,  Richard  Smith  mariner,  who 
came  from  Kingston-upon-Hull  and  had  left  his 
ship  in  the  Medina  River.  He  pleaded  the  deli- 
cacy of  his  foreign  wife,  and  the  Prioress  could 
not  deny  him.  She  appointed  the  morrow  of  the 
Feast  for  these  persons  to  join  her.  Until  then 
she  was  guest  of  the  Abbot  of  Hyde :  they  were 


THE  PROLOGUE  7 

to  meet  her  at  the  gates  at  such  and  such  an  hour, 
in  travelling  trim  —  and  they  did.  Each  of  them 
contributed  a  tale  to  the  week's  solace,  and  one 
of  them  a  good  deal  more.  But  of  that  in  its 
place. 

Here,  then,  you  have  the  tellers  of  these  New 
Canterbury  Tales :  the  Lady  Prioress  of  Ambres- 
bury,  Master  Corbet  the  Scrivener  of  London, 
Dan  Costard  the  Prioress's  confessor,  Smith  the 
shipman  of  Hull,  Captain  Brazenhead  formerly  of 
Milan,  and  Percival  Perceforest,  who  was  born  in 
Gloucester.  The  first  day  brought  them  to  New 
Alresford,  the  second  to  Waverley  Abbey,  the 
third  to  Reigate  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  the  fourth 
to  the  Abbey  of  Boxley  in  Kent,  and  the  fifth  to 
Christchurch,  Canterbury.  Now  then,  Pergite, 
Pierides. 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  OF  THE 
COUNTESS  ALYS* 

THE  manner  of  the  beginning  of  these  tales  was 
this.  Percival  Perceforest  had  sung  a  good  part  of 
the  Romaunt  de  la  Rose,  and  sung  it  well,  in  a  high, 
clear,  unfaltering  voice  which  was  neither  proper 
man's  nor  certain  boy's,  but  of  the  sort  we  call 
alto.  This  intrigued,  before  it  wearied,  Smith  the 
shipman,  but  delighted  Captain  Brazenhead,  who 
had  (in  a  sort)  adopted  the  youth.  At  the  end  of 
his  recital,  "  Is  this  young  man  your  nephew, 
soldier  ? "  asked  the  shipman.  Captain  Brazen- 
head  flicked  upwards  his  moustachios. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  the  older  man  who  denies 
it,"  he  said  with  a  glitter  in  his  eye.  For  Perci- 
val was  by  no  means  his  nephew. 

"  I  have  nephews,"  says  the  shipman,  "  who  sing 
tenor,  and  nieces  who  sing  treble.  And  the  Pope, 
I  hear,  hath  nieces.  How  now,  master  ?  " 

Captain  Brazenhead  was  meditating,  stroking 
his  nose.  "  Now,"  said  he  quietly,  "  now  could  I 
cut  thee  in  half,  thou  shotten  herring." 

"  Let  me  go,  wife,  let  me  go !  "  cried  the  ship- 
man, who  was  strangling.  Captain  Brazenhead 
had  stroked  his  nose  till  it  burned:  there  might 
have  been  bloodshed  within  three  miles  of  Win- 
chester. 

Here  the  Scrivener  intervened. 

*  Copyright,  1901,  by  The  Macmillan  Company. 
II 


12  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  Madame,"  said  this  worthy  man  to  the  Prioress, 
"  instead  of  singing  by  rote,  instead  of  hot  debate, 
I  perceive  another  pastime.  I  propose  a  tale  from 
one  of  this  company,  all  in  the  manner  of  that 
noble  clerk  and  fellow  of  my  mystery,  Master 
Geoffrey  Chaucer,  of  whom  doubtless  you  have 
heard.  What  is  more  to  the  purpose,  I  (if  your 
ladyship  please)  will  begin  with  one  of  the  most 
fruitful  narratives  you  ever  heard ;  and  although 
rhyme  shall  be  lacking  (for  I  am  no  rhymester  for 
choice),  I  promise  you  the  other  elements  of  art, 
as  balance,  careful  heed  to  longs  and  shorts,  pro- 
portion, exquisite  choice,  these  things  (I  promise 
you)  shall  not  be  lacking.  If  that  will  content 
your  ladyship  and  this  amiable  company,  I  shall 
myself  be  contented.  More  than  that  I  can 
scarcely  say." 

"  I  see  on  the  hill  the  good  town  of  Alresford," 
said  Captain  Brazenhead.  "  There  should  be  beer 
there,  for  my  poor  nephew's  dry  throat." 

"  I  shall  be  done  before  we  reach  that  town," 
replied  the  Scrivener.  They  were  now  out  of  that 
open  country  where  Kingsworthy  stands,  and  in 
the  deepening  valley  of  the  Itchen.  Itchen  Abbas, 
with  a  grange  of  the  Abbot  of  Hyde's,  was  past. 
They  saw  the  grey  downs  on  either  side  of  them, 
a  long  white  hill  in  front,  with  dust  where  strayed 
a  flock  of  sheep :  beyond  that  New  Alresford  must 
be  hidden  in  trees. 

The  Scrivener  was  bid  tell  his  tale.  Percival's 
hand  rested  on  Mawdleyn's  stirrup,  touching 
Mawdleyn's  foot. 


THE   SCRIVENER'S  TALE  13 

HERE  FOLLOWS  THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  OF 
THE  KlNG  AND  THE  COUNTESS  ALYS 

"  First  I  shall  tell  you,"  said  the  Scrivener,  "  how 
the  fair  Countess  Alys  lived  at  Wark  like  a  nest- 
ing bird. 

"  I  daresay  you  have  heard  of  our  very  famous 
King  and  liege  lord  Edward,  the  third  after  the 
Conquest;  who,  to  enforce  his  reasonable  claims 
upon  that  country,  smote  France  a  buffet  on 
either  ear,  took  prisoners  the  king  and  the  king's 
son,  wore  their  lilies  lightly  on  his  shield,  left  them 
(too  heavy  a  burden)  to  his  successors,  and  (in  fine) 
did  all  that  was  reasonable  to  requite  the  indigni- 
ties put  upon  his  ancestors,  King  Henry  of  the 
Short  Coat,  King  Richard  Cordelion,  and  King 
John  the  Pope's  footstool,  who  (as  they  say)  did 
more  valiantly  in  bed,  thinking  what  he  would 
perform,  than  out  of  it  in  true  performance.  I 
make  no  doubt  but  you  have  heard  of  him,  and 
mostly  to  his  advantage,  since  God  our  Saviour 
hath  so  ordered  our  mundane  affairs  that  the  good 
a  man  does  lives  longer  than  the  evil,  and  so  the 
Devil  is  denied  even  infamy  in  the  long  run. 
This  being  the  case,  as  I  assure  you  it  is,  do  not 
suppose  that  I  hold  enemy's  cards  if  I  recall  to 
you  a  deed  of  this  King's  not  so  well  done  as 
others  of  his:  no,  but  my  zeal  for  a  noble  lady  can 
only  be  served  at  his  expense ;  and  yet  I  believe 
he  can  well  afford  it.  Besides  all  that,  the  tale  is 
true. 

"  This  King  Edward,  being  a  famous  warrior, 
had  a  huge  frame  after  the  antick  fashion  of  his 
forefathers,  shoulders  like  a  platform,  massy  legs, 


14  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

arms  like  towers,  the  chest  of  a  town  bull.  A 
fair  long  beard  he  had  down  to  his  middle,  a 
square  bulging  brow,  a  face  hatchet-shaped,  and 
light  blue  eyes  that  glittered  in  his  head  like  can- 
dle flames.  He  was  ruddy  and  tawny-haired  like 
all  his  race,  which  never  bred  black  men  to  endure, 
a  stupendous  lover  of  women,  most  intrepid  in 
fight,  ruthless  in  purpose,  speedy  of  counsel ;  be- 
loved therefore  by  all  them  who  fought  hard,  de- 
termined strongly,  and  jumped  their  conclusions : 
by  none  more  than  by  Sir  William  Montacute, 
Earl  of  Salisbury  and  Warden  of  the  Northern 
March,  who  would  have  been  at  his  duty  at  the 
time  of  my  tale  if  he  had  not  been  in  the  King  of 
France  his  prison  of  Chatelet,  so  held  ever  since 
the  stampede  of  Lille  in  Flanders.  As  it  was, 
the  Countess  his  wife,  with  Sir  William  Monta- 
cute his  sister's  son,  held  on  his  account  the 
lonely  Castle  of  Wark,  which  sits  upon  the  south 
bank  of  the  Tweed,  watching  the  brown  slopes  of 
Scotland ;  and  sees  the  border  thieves,  shaggy, 
small-eyed  men,  come  creeping  round  the  sunny 
rocks ;  and  waits,  knowing  it  can  give  as  good 
as  they." 

"  Man,"  said  Dan  Costard,  the  Prioress's  con- 
fessor, "  your  periods  are  too  long.  You  are  out 
of  breath  already." 

"  There  are  no  better  periods  in  the  world  than 
my  periods,"  said  the  Scrivener,  comfortably. 
"  Please  to  attend." 

"  Now,  this  Countess  Alys  was  a  beautiful  young 
woman,  not  turned  twenty,  the  second  wife  of  her 
husband,  of  great  descent  (being  born  De  Grandi- 
son),  thinnish  and  rather  tall,  with  a  bosom  of  snow, 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  15 

pale  oval  face,  and  long  brown  hair  close  about 
it;  with  full  blue  eyes,  a  little  mouth,  a  long 
straight  nose,  a  sharp  chin,  and  a  narrow  neck." 

Smith  the  shipman  ticked  off  these  parts  on 
Percival's  unconscious  person,  even  while  Percival 
in  adoration  was  ticking  them  off  on  his  Mawd- 
leyn's,  and  Mawdleyn's  brown  eyes  melted  under 
the  fire  of  his.  "  All  these  he  hath,  with  a  voice 
like  a  reed  pipe,  and  calleth  himself  man !  Go 
to:  I  will  plumb  this  mystery  anon,"  said  the 
former  to  himself  with  many  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Withal,"  the  Scrivener  continued,  "  she  had 
a  wild  look,  with  some  audacity  and  much  inno- 
cent hardihood ;  as  though,  like  Taillefer  at  Senlac, 
she  played  with  her  virtue,  tossing  it  up,  but  al- 
ways catching  it  again.  This  was  the  Countess 
Alys,  very  young,  who  held  the  Castle  of  Wark 
against  the  Scots  with  the  aid  of  a  few  vassals 
and  her  husband's  sister's  son,  and  did  most 
honourably  all  that  pertained  to  the  estate  of  a 
great  man's  wife;  being  a  tender  stepmother  to 
his  grown  children,  a  careful  spender  of  his  house 
and  gear,  foster-mother  to  his  servants,  keeper  of 
his  honour  and  bed,  and  (when  he  was  at  home) 
content  with  nothing  so  much  as  to  sit  by  his 
knee  or  upon  it,  cheerfully,  meekly,  wholly  sub- 
missive to  his  pleasures  or  reproofs.  All  this  I 
find  to  be  quite  as  it  should  be.  The  Earl  of 
Salisbury  might  have  been  her  father,  but  he  was 
her  good  husband  as  it  happened.  And  as  she 
revered  him,  so  he  gave  her  full  confidence  and, 
while  he  was  in  prison,  his  honour  to  keep. 

"  Of  his  children,  two  fine  boys  some  five  years 
younger  than  herself,  she  took  the  greatest  care. 


1 6  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

What  poor  lore  she  had  of  her  own  she  imparted 
to  them :  love,  namely,  of  various  sorts.  The  first, 
Love  of  God ;  comprehended  in  that,  Love  of 
father  and  mother ;  dependent  upon  that,  Love  of 
race.  In  this  manner  she  grew  in  them  a  pretty 
garden  of  sweet  briars  whereon  some  day  the 
rose  itself  of  Love  might  come  to  perfection. 
For  the  rest,  she  had  confided  them  to  the  care 
of  a  young  man  named  Lancelot,  a  scholar  of 
Ghent,  well  versed  in  poetry,  philosophy,  and  all 
the  gentle  arts,  hopeful  to  become  a  great  clerk. 

"  Now  this  was  the  position  of  affairs  at  Wark, 
and  this  their  quiet  order,  when  the  noble  King 
Edward  was  twenty-five  years  old,  a  twelve-year 
King  by  no  means  sated  of  glory  in  field  or  bower. 
Far  from  that,  he  sought  the  strife  of  both  sorts 
wherever  it  might  be  found,  but  chiefly  in  the 
northern  parts  of  his  realm  —  for  such,  after  the 
precepts  of  his  ancestors,  he  always  held  Scotland 
to  be.  At  this  moment  opportunity  was  not 
denied  him,  seeing  that  King  David  of  that  coun- 
try was  paying  a  visit  to  his  ally  the  King  of 
France :  therefore  our  King  made  a  great  inva- 
sion of  the  lands  about  Berwick ;  burning,  pillag- 
ing, laying  them  waste,  taking  his  diversion ; 
then  (as  the  winter  came  on  quickly)  withdrawing 
himself  to  his  good  town  of  York,  to  keep  his 
Christmas,  rest  his  men,  and  make  preparations 
for  a  new  inrush  as  soon  as  the  passes  of  the 
hills  should  be  open.  But  in  the  meantime  King 
David,  sailing  from  France  with  a  power,  came 
home,  and  touched  land  at  Montrose.  They  tell 
him  of  the  unhappy  state  of  his  southern  parts, 
not  without  tears.  '  Have  at  you,  dog  of  an 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  17 

Englishman,'  says  King  David,  a  fierce  man  of 
considerable  inches.  Then  and  there,  amid  the 
mists  of  November  (which  the  Scots,  who  live 
mostly  in  fogs,  care  little  about),  he  with  his  force 
came  down  into  the  Merse,  and  drew  out  in  keen 
lines  from  Kelso  even  unto  Berwick.  King 
David  himself  with  a  good  company  of  earls  and 
barons  laid  siege  to  the  Castle  of  Wark,  wherein 
(like  a  nesting  bird)  the  young  Countess  Alys  sat 
close,  as  might  be  upon  her  eggs  —  which  were 
the  gear,  the  sons,  and  the  fair  fame  of  her  lord 
in  prison. 

"  When  first  this  danger  affronted  her —  the 
shock  of  one  dense  night  —  it  was  like  a  slap  in 
the  face,  which  caused  her  spirit,  flushing,  to  rise 
high  and  meet  it  When  soon  it  encompassed  her 
on  every  side,  so  that  the  very  woods  and  shaws 
round  about  the  castle  lawns  were  full  of  armed 
Scots,  then  her  spirit  soared.  That  good  Earl, 
her  husband,  would  have  been  proud  of  his  wife. 
Soft-faring,  delicate,  silk-enwrapt  as  she  was,  she 
watched  out  the  cruel  winter  days  from  the  tower- 
top,  whether  the  wet  mist  clung  about  her  and 
drenched  her  hair,  or  a  rude  tingling  gale  from 
the  west  blew  it  out  like  a  flag  before  her  face, 
or  the  north  wind  dried  her  thin,  or  driving  sleet 
made  her  figure  dim :  whatever  the  smack  of 
weather  might  be,  she  stood  by  the  banner  of 
Montacute  watching  (though  she  could  not  beat 
off)  the  eager  hordes  from  Scotland.  King  David, 
they  say,  with  his  earls  rode  often  close  under  the 
tower  to  hold  parley  with  her.  '  Come  you  down, 
dear  madame,  come  away  down,'  he  would  say, 
'  before  I  send  to  bring  you  down.  I  promise  you 


1 8  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

a  snug  bower  in  Edinburgh,  and  a  king  for  your 
paramour.'  Or,  again,  he  would  bid  them  raise 
towers  against  her  tower,  or  lay  mines  against 
her  mines,  or  cast  great  stones  out  of  engines  to 
batter  her  walls,  or  make  rams  of  tree-trunks,  or 
raise  up  scaling-ladders,  so  that  thieves  and  cut- 
throats with  knives  in  their  mouths  might  swarm 
over  moat  and  drawbridge  and  drown  all  her  little 
empire  in  blood.  The  Countess  Alys,  with  small, 
high,  unfaltering  head,  watched  all  this  meditated 
rapine,  met  attack  by  attack,  and  defied  (though 
she  framed  no  words)  the  defiance  of  King  David. 
So  at  last,  about  Christmas  time,  the  snow  being 
very  deep,  the  King  of  Scots  sat  down  behind  the 
wattles  of  his  trenches,  saying, '  If  we  cannot  burn 
them  out  or  cut  them  out,  we  will  starve  them 
in,  by  the  chief  gods  of  Scotland.' 

"  So  the  year  wore  from  Christmas  to  Epiphany, 
and  so  to  Candlemas,  with  frost  and  great  drifts 
of  snow,  until  February  came,  and  a  spell  of 
warm  wet  weather.  Then  the  Countess  said  to 
her  kinsman  Montacute,  '  This  open  weather 
makes  me  hungry,  cousin.  I  think  that  nothing 
should  hinder  the  King  now.  Surely  he  will 
come.' 

"'Madame,'  says  Montacute,  'why  should  he 
come  ?  He  knows  nothing  of  your  peril,  and  Ber- 
wick (not  Wark)  is  the  apple  of  his  eye.  When  he 
moves  out  of  York  he  will  march  on  Berwick,  I 
lay  my  head.' 

"  The  Countess  looked  doubtfully  forth  upon 
the  rain,  how  it  carved  for  itself  channels  in  the 
pitted  snow.  '  I  cannot  let  our  good  people 
starve,  William,'  she  said.  '  My  lord  might  be 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  19 

displeased  with  me.  And  he  would  be  sorry; 
for  these  men  have  served  me  well.' 

" '  One  should  ride  to  the  King,  then/  says 
Montacute. 

"  *  The  Scots  would  have  something  to  say  to 
that,'  the  Countess  considered. 

"  Then  Montacute  asked,  '  Can  you  hold  out 
against  I  come  again  ? ' 

"  '  God  will  reward  you,'  says  she,  not  answering 
his  question ;  and  he,  who  had  not  expected  an 
answer,  says,  '  Good,  I  go.' 

"  So  Montacute  rode  out  under  cover  of  the  dark 
and  a  furious  rainstorm,  clean  through  the  Scot- 
tish camp.  He  reaches  York  and  sees  the  King 
of  England  taking  his  pastime  with  ladies  in 
his  hall.  He  tells  him  all  the  case  of  Wark. 
'  By  our  Lord,'  cries  the  King,  *  you  are  better 
now  than  not  at  all,  Montacute ;  but  you  are  fully 
late.' 

" '  Sire/  says  Montacute,  '  I  dared  not  leave  my 
cousin  Madame  de  Salisbury  before/ 

" '  Get  back  the  way  you  came  in/  says  the 
King,  'and  bid  your  lady  expect  me  soon.'  So 
Montacute  took  his  leave. 

"  Now  you  shall  hear,"  said  the  Scrivener, 
"how  love  smote  the  King  of  England  on  both 
cheeks. 

"  Montacute  got  into  Wark  as  he  had  got  out  of 
it,  in  safety  and  honour,  the  cause  of  death  to  two 
Scots.  He  put  heart  into  the  young  Countess, 
who  saw  (as  it  were)  her  children  saved  from  the 
jaws  of  the  dragon.  You  may  be  sure  that  she 
did  not  fail  to  let  the  King  of  Scots  know  what  he 


20  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

might  expect  if  he  stayed ;  for  this  was  according 
to  the  usages  of  war  in  an  honourable  age.  Now 
King  David,  for  his  part,  believed  what  she  told 
him,  as  (having  been  a  whole  winter  in  her  near 
company)  he  could  not  fail  to  do  either.  He  bade 
her  a  courteous  farewell,  promising  to  come  again 
when  times  were  better  to  renew  his  suit;  and 
withdrew  his  forces  over  Tweed,  and  fell  back  on 
Jedburgh,  secure  among  hills  and  morasses.  The 
Countess  with  a  beating  heart  threw  wide  the 
doors  of  Wark,  and  let  the  sweet  air  in. 

"She  made  great  preparations  to  receive  the 
King,  liege  lord  of  her  lord.  From  the  store- 
houses she  drew  abundance  of  scented  rushes  for 
the  floors  of  hall  and  chambers;  she  hung  out 
the  arras  and  painted  cloths,  set  candles  of  wax 
(three  pounds  to  a  candle)  all  about,  and  bade  her 
huntsmen  kill  stags,  swans,  herons,  boars,  and 
salmon.  When  they  told  her  that  Tweed  was 
ice-bound  yet,  so  that  the  salmon  could  not  get 
up,  she  threw  back  her  head  in  the  high  way 
she  had,  and  bade  them  break  the  ice  with  mat- 
tocks as  far  as  Berwick  Weirs.  This  must  needs 
be  done.  Men  of  hers  and  horses  went  to  meet 
the  King  at  Hexham  and  bring  him  home  by 
way  of  the  North  Tyne  and  Redesdale  into  the 
Vale  of  Tweed.  There  finally,  outside  the  walls 
of  war-worn  Wark,  the  Countess  Alys  met  him  a 
first  time,  she  standing  under  a  canopy  upon  a 
red  cloth  of  estate,  her  women  with  her,  nobly 
dressed  in  a  close  gown  of  blue  and  silver,  with 
a  great  head-dress  of  silver,  and  ermine  fur  all 
round  her  neck,  and  all  round  the  hem  of  her 
gown.  Her  eyes  were  very  bright,  in  her  cheeks 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  21 

was  great  colour,  extremely  noble  fire.  When 
she  saw  the  King  she  knelt  down  upon  the  cloth, 
her  women  still  standing,  until  Montacute  had 
helped  him  to  alight ;  and  then  she  got  up  and, 
running  forward,  knelt  again  before  him;  and 
took  his  mailed  hand  and  kissed  it;  but  said 
nothing,  because,  being  quite  young,  she  was 
afraid  of  the  glory  of  kings. 

"  Now,  had  this  been  a  lady  of  common  favour, 
the  King  would  have  picked  her  up  and  kissed 
her ;  for  that  was  the  hardy  way  of  his  race,  sig- 
nally exemplified  in  himself.  But  instead  —  at 
this  near  sight  of  her  starry  beauty  —  he  grew 
red  as  fire,  began  to  tremble,  got  a  mist  across  his 
eyes,  and  was  choked  by  the  shortness  of  his 
breath.  No  more  than  she  had  he  his  words  at 
command,  no  more  than  she  did  he  know  how  to 
be  bold.  O  dea  cerfe  /  was  his  thought,  and, 
/  am  a  sinful  man:  but  whereas  she  looked  fast 
on  the  ground,  he  looked  fast  at  her,  awfully 
absorbed  and  wrought  upon,  forgetful  of  time, 
place,  errand,  degree,  and  business  in  the  fresh 
and  rare  beauty  of  her  who  knelt  at  his  disposal. 
As  woman,  she  gained  composure  first,  and 
'  Sire,'  said  trembling,  '  I  beg  you  be  welcome  in 
my  lord's  name  to  his  house  of  Wark.'  '  Ha, 
madame !  God's  face,'  says  the  King,  '  believe 
me  glad  to  be  here.'  She  dared  to  look  up  to  his 
face  at  these  honest  words ;  whereby  she  saw  in 
what  way  he  was  glad,  and  looked  down  again, 
all  confused.  So  she  busied  herself  with  welcom- 
ing those  who  stood  by  —  the  Earl  of  Pembroke, 
her  brother  De  Grandison,  Sire  Walter  de  Manny, 
the  Lord  Reginald  Cobham,  Sire  Richard  Stam- 


22  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

ford,  and  others.  Herein  and  in  other  needful 
business  her  cousin  Montacute  helped  her  with 
prudence :  then  came  also  the  two  boys  of  the 
Earl's,  William  and  John  de  Montacute,  with 
them  their  tutor  Master  Lancelot,  to  make  their 
obeisance  to  the  King.  He  by  this  time  had 
recovered  his  nature,  and  behaved  greatly. 

"  Heartened  somewhat  to  play  her  necessary 
part,  she  took  him  by  the  hand,  saying  as  cheer- 
fully as  she  could,  '  Come,  Sire,  repose  yourself 
awhile.  Afterwards  you  can  pursue  your  ene- 
mies, who  (at  the  mere  bruit  of  your  coming) 
have  taken  to  flight.'  The  King  had  nothing  to 
say  but  '  Ha,  madame,  is  it  so  ? '  or  '  Ha,  madame, 
indeed ! '  no  words  for  a  great  king,  in  my  opin- 
ion ;  and  suffered  himself  to  be  led  whithersoever 
the  lady  chose. 

"  After  he  had  bathed  himself  and  put  on  a 
purple  velvet  gown,  his  circlet  of  gold  and  collar 
of  gold,  she  took  him  into  the  hall,  where  dinner 
was  served  to  him  alone;  she  being  cup-bearer, 
Montacute  sewer  of  the  meats,  and  the  two  boys 
carrying,  one  the  ewer,  basin,  and  towel,  the  other 
the  manchets  of  bread.  The  lords  were  attended 
by  her  high  officers  of  the  household;  all  was 
done  in  noble  order,  with  abundance  to  eat  and 
drink,  with  minstrels  in  the  gallery,  dogs  under 
the  tables,  a  fool  in  a  corner,  and  silver  trumpets 
at  the  buttery  door  to  cry  the  courses.  All  this 
to  little  purpose.  The  king  picked  at  his  food, 
said  nothing,  looked  ever  at  his  plate.  But  he 
drank  cup  after  cup  from  those  two  fair  hands, 
and  inflamed  his  love  without  clearing  his  under- 
standing. Whereafter,  seeing  he  could  find  no 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  aj 

way  at  present  of  achieving  what  he  so  ardently 
desired,  he  sat  moody  and  silent ;  but  men  per- 
ceived that  the  muscles  of  his  upper  jaw  worked 
in  and  out  like  a  mill  as  he  ground  his  thoughts 
over  and  over.  The  Countess  Alys  perceived  it 
too.  *  Alack,'  she  thought,  '  the  King  is  not  con- 
tent with  me.'  And  to  Lancelot,  the  boys'  gover- 
nor, whom  she  greatly  regarded,  she  said,  '  What 
have  I  done  amiss  by  our  lord  the  King,  think 
you,  Lancelot  ? '  '  My  word,  madame,'  this  one 
replies,  with  a  sick,  troubled  face,  '  I  do  not  like 
to  consider  of  the  matter.'  'Will  you  ask  my 
brother  De  Grandison  for  me,  Lancelot  ? '  she 
asks  him.  '  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me,  madame,' 
says  the  young  man.  So  she  turned  away  from 
him  comfortless. 

"  But  she  thought,  'If  I  do  not  content  the 
King,  I  shall  dishonour  my  husband  in  his 
absence.  I  must  never  do  that.'  So  she  went 
herself  to  her  brother  De  Grandison,  who  told 
her,  that  no  doubt  the  King  had  private  reasons 
for  his  discontent,  and  no  doubt  would  impart 
them  if  he  were  asked.  And  *  I  advise  you, 
sister,  to  speak  with  the  King  yourself,'  said  this 
De  Grandison.  She  waited  till  they  had  taken 
away  the  tables  and  the  company  had  scattered, 
then  watched  to  see  what  would  follow,  or  what 
the  King  would  do.  He  sent  out  the  Earl  of 
Pembroke  to  make  ready  the  host ;  '  For,'  says 
he  in  a  ringing  voice,  '  I  will  not  stay  here,  but 
pursue  the  Scots  incontinent  and  sleep  to-night 
in  their  villainous  country.'  After  this  he  goes 
to  a  deep-set  window  in  the  hall  where  there  is  a 
seat,  and  sits  there  alone,  drumming  with  his  fin- 


24  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

gers  on  the  woodwork,  one  foot  only  restless,  tip- 
tapping  under  his  gown.  The  Countess  takes 
her  courageous  heart  in  both  hands,  goes  and 
stands  behind  the  King.  '  I  beseech  my  lord  the 
King,'  she  says,  out  of  breath,  '  to  tell  me  wherein 
I  have  done  amiss.'  The  King  turns  her  a 
red  and  misty  face.  '  O  God,  madame,'  he  says 
brokenly,  '  the  mischief  was  done  at  your  birth.' 

" '  I  am  content,  dear  Sire,'  she  replies  freely ; 
*  for  then  the  fault  is  not  mine.' 

" '  Ha,  there  is  no  fault  in  you,  madame ! '  cries 
the  King  in  a  hot  whisper ;  '  and  there  is  none  in 
me,  by  my  head  and  crown.  But  there  is  great 
misery,  and  danger,  and  sorrow.' 

" '  I  pray  you  tell  me  how  I  can  content  you, 
Sire,'  says  the  Countess ;  and  he,  gazing  intently 
at  her,  asks,  '  Do  you  wish  indeed  to  content 
me?' 

'"Yes,  Sire,'  says  she,  faltering  a  little,  for 
he  was  very  hard-set,  and  a  man  overweening 
tall. 

" '  Why,  so  you  shall,  madame,'  he  replied  in  a 
moment;  and  got  up  and  went  out  of  the  hall, 
taking  with  him  De  Grandison  only.  This  flat- 
tered greatly  the  anxious  man,  who  was  poor, 
profuse,  and  ambitious;  but  it  was  only  nature 
working  in  the  King,  to  make  him  love  the  near- 
est thing  for  the  sake  of  the  far  thing  he  loved 
best  of  all.  The  Countess  withdrew  to  her  cham- 
ber, where  she  found  Lancelot  with  the  two  boys. 

" '  I  am  to  content  the  King,  Lancelot,'  she  told 
him,  laughing  with  a  little  pleasant  defiance,  for 
she  was  half  afraid  of  this  glum  tutor,  yet  proud 
of  her  successful  dealing  with  the  King.  The 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  25 

tutor  scarcely  looked  up.  '  As  it  must  be,  madame,' 
was  all  he  had  to  say.  And  presently  after,  as 
she  sat  there,  trying  to  coax  him  through  the 
boys  into  friendlier  case,  there  were  heard  three 
great  blasts  of  a  horn,  and  much  clattering,  with 
hinnying  of  horses  and  pawing  of  the  ground, 
and  running  to  the  window  (she  and  the  boys), 
behold,  the  forces  of  England  file  out  of  the 
courtyard  in  resplendent  order  of  mail  and  trapped 
horses,  with  banners,  pensels,  and  gonfalons,  all 
displayed,  and  many  a  blazoned  shield ;  and  then 
the  Marshal  of  England,  with  the  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke in  command  of  the  host,  and  his  esquires 
with  their  grooms  all  about  him.  '  Oh,  the 
knights  ride !  The  knights  ride ! '  cried  one  of 
the  boys,  and  clapped  his  hands :  but  the  other 
craned  his  neck  out  of  the  window.  '  I  would 
see  the  King  ride,'  says  he;  then  his  brother, 
'  You  knave,  the  King  will  stay  here,  to  be  with 
our  mother.'  Blushing  to  hear  him,  she  turns 
quickly  round  to  look  at  Lancelot,  and  sees  him 
sitting  at  the  table  with  his  head  in  his  two  hands. 
Abashed,  a  little  frightened,  she  knew  not  why, 
presently  she  left  the  room ;  and  heard  two  things 
that  frightened  her  indeed  —  the  first,  that  William 
de  Montacute  her  kinsman  was  gone  into  Scotland 
with  the  host,  the  second,  that  the  King  stayed 
at  Wark  for  that  night  at  least,  with  De  Grandi- 
son  for  his  only  companion.  After  that  she  hid 
herself  with  her  women  until  her  brother  sent  for 
her,  saying  that  he  had  urgent  call  to  see  her 
before  supper. 

"  She  went  down,  and  found  him  walking  about 
in  the  forecourt. 


26  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"' Sister,'  said  De  Grandison,  'look  to  it  that 
you  content  the  King  this  night,  seeing  that  he 
stays  here,  neglectful  of  his  realm's  business,  for 
sake  of  you.' 

" '  For  the  sake  of  me,  Otho  ? '  says  the  Countess, 
very  red ;  and  he  repeated,  nodding  his  head  in  her 
direction, '  For  the  sake  of  you,  Alys.  The  King, 
my  master  and  friend,'  he  added,  '  is  a  swift,  in- 
trepid gentleman,  greatly  given  to  his  way  —  as 
his  due  is  —  and  not  to  be  brooked.  To  be  sure, 
he  will  do  as  he  chooses  sooner  or  later ;  and  they 
who  yield  the  sooner  are  the  sooner  rewarded,' 
says  he. 

" '  Why,  what  can  I  yield  to  the  King  of  Eng- 
land that  I  have  not  yielded,  of  all  the  store  left 
me  by  the  King  of  Scotland  ? '  cries  the  Countess, 
with  the  answer  prophesied  plain  in  the  dismay 
of  her  face.  All  other  answer  she  got  was  the 
brooding  look  of  the  lord  Otho  her  brother,  who, 
to  end  the  talk,  presently  said,  '  Kings  ask  much 
of  us,  their  subjects,  very  much  they  ask  —  even 
to  all  that  we  have.  But  they  give  much  in  re- 
turn, pardieu;  and  ours  is  a  poor  house,'  says  he. 
He  meant  the  house  of  Grandison,  which,  how- 
ever, was  richer  than  he  thought  in  the  Countess 
Alys.  She,  sickened  of  advice,  left  him  here,  and 
saw  nobody  till  supper  time.  De  Grandison  went 
to  be  with  the  King. 

"  To  supper  came  the  King  in  a  royal  mood. 
He  made  the  Countess  sit  by  his  side ;  he  plied 
her  with  meat  and  drink;  he  spoke  little,  but 
looked  much.  After  supper  he  said,  '  Now, 
madame,  you  and  I  shall  play  a  game  of  chess. 
Are  you  willing  ? ' 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  27 

"  She  said,  *  Very  willing,  Sire.  But  what  shall 
be  the  stakes  ? ' 

"  The  King  took  a  jewel  from  his  finger,  a  great 
balass  ruby  in  the  midst  of  fine  goldsmith's  work. 
' 1  lay  this  in  pledge,'  he  told  her.  *  What  do  you 
lay?' 

"  She  broke  in,  '  Alack,  Sir,  I  have  nothing 
of  worth  to  lay  beside  your  ring.'  Said  he, 
'  You  have  priceless  worth  in  every  ounce  of  your 
blood.  I  would  play  for  your  company,  sweet 
lady.' 

"  The  Countess  looked  wise.  *  You  shall  not 
need  to  play  for  what  you  have  in  tribute,  Sir. 
Here  I  am,  honoured  in  your  presence.  And  so 
long  as  you  will  have  me  so  in  honour,  so  long 
I  will  stay.  Longer  than  that,  or  otherwise,  you 
would  not  ask  for  me.' 

"  Said  the  King, '  Nevertheless  I  would  play  you 
for  your  company.'  And  he  commanded  them 
to  bring  the  table,  the  board,  and  the  pieces." 

"  Next,"  said  the  Scrivener,  "  you  shall  learn 
how  the  King  and  the  Countess  played  at  chess. 

"  The  King  had  the  red  pieces,  the  Countess 
the  white.  They  set  the  board,  and  the  King  put 
forth  a  horse.  The  Countess  was  in  a  sad  quan- 
dary ;  you  will  understand,  who  may  have  played 
with  princes " 

"  Ha !  By  my  head,  indeed !  "  murmured  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead  — 

" for  if  she  beat  the  King  she  would  have 

his  ruby,  too  rare  a  possession  for  subjects  to  hold ; 
and  if  he  beat  her  she  would  be  at  his  discretion 
—  and  what  is  the  discretion  of  kings  ?  All  she 


28  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

could  hope  for  was  to  draw  the  game,  an  end  which 
is  difficult  for  a  good  player  whose  head  is  cool : 
now  the  Countess  was  an  indifferent  player,  whose 
head  ached.  None  stood  by  to  watch  the  sport 
save  my  Lord  Otho  de  Grandison,  greatly  inter- 
ested ;  not  at  all  Master  Lancelot,  the  boys'  gov- 
ernor. Him  you  are  to  suppose  at  his  prayers 
apart. 

"  At  first  the  King  gained  greatly :  he  took  her 
bishop  with  his  bishop,  a  rook  of  hers  fell ;  he  gave 
her  check  in  eight  moves.  Each  stroke  drew  a 
snigger  from  De  Grandison.  This  quickened  her. 
She  brought  up  the  queen's  rook  to  the  queen's 
square,  then  with  the  queen  gave  check :  nothing 
for  it  but  the  King  must  cover  with  his  queen. 
So  the  Countess  took  the  King's  queen,  and  had 
good  hope  of  drawing  the  game,  or  (failing  that) 
of  winning  it  —  for  by  now  she  thought,  'It  is 
better  that  I  have  the  King's  ring  than  he  subdue 
me.'  Moreover,  if  I  am  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was 
on  her  mettle,  minded  to  win  if  she  could.  And 
it  seemed  as  if  the  Fates,  amorous  of  the  bold,  had 
been  gained  over  to  her  side,  for  the  King,  ex- 
ceedingly put  out  at  the  loss  of  his  queen,  played 
a  game  of  revenges,  aiming  at  slaughter  rather  than 
a  prize.  He  lost  a  knight  to  a  pawn,  sacrificed 
to  little  purpose,  made  foolish  exchanges,  received 
check  after  check.  De  Grandison  marvelled,  the 
King  saw  his  concern :  at  last  he  said,  '  Peste, 
madame,  you  play  a  good  game  of  chess  and  make 
a  bold  attack.  It  seems  that  I  must  lose  my  ring; 
but  think  not  the  affair  ended  here.' 

"  '  Dear  Sir,'  says  she,  '  if  I  attack  with  boldness 
it  is  for  fear  of  your  boldness.  I  pray  you  declare 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  29 

a  drawn  game,  and  take  it  not  amiss  in  me  that  I 
have  fought  for  my  side.' 

" '  By  no  means,'  said  the  King,  '  but  greatly 
otherwise.  I  hope  to  give  a  better  account  of 
myself  at  another  time  and  place.' 

" '  I  am  sure  your  Grace  will  be  as  merciful  in 
victory  as  in  reverse,'  quoth  the  lady.  '  Be  not  too 
sure,'  said  the  King.  '  Meantime  I  shall  own  my- 
self worsted,  and  do  you  keep  the  ring.' 

"  *  No,  no,  dear  Sir,'  cries  she ;  '  the  game  is 
drawn.  I  may  not  take  what  I  have  not  won.  I 
lose  nothing  and  your  Grace  loses  nothing ;  but 
honour,'  she  says  with  meaning, '  is  saved  to  each.' 
The  King  with  a  nod  sent  De  Grandison  out  of 
the  room ;  off  he  went  on  the  tips  of  his  toes : 
immediately  the  King  took  the  hand  of  the  lady. 
'  Dearest  madame,'  he  said,  *  I  love  you  more  than 
my  life.'  She  did  not  try  to  take  her  hand  away, 
for  she  knew  very  well  that  to  struggle  would  be 
to  evoke  stronger  forces  than  she  could  command, 
or  he  afterwards  call  off.  *  Sire,'  she  said,  '  I  am 
sure  that  your  gracious  words  would  rejoice  the 
heart  of  my  lord  in  prison  —  prisoned  indeed  in 
your  service.' 

" '  I  am  glad  that  you  think  so,'  replied  the  King. 
'  I  have  always  found  the  Earl  of  Salisbury  a  good 
subject.'  After  this  he  paused,  still  holding  her 
hand,  but  without  any  words.  What  could  she 
do,  poor  soul,  but  stay  as  she  was,  caught,  trepi- 
tant,  nonplussed,  alone  with  the  great  King,  with 
eyes  like  a  hare's,  that  look  sideways  for  danger  ? 
After  a  time  of  sufficient  embarrassment  he  kissed 
the  caught  hand  two  or  three  times,  saying  with 
soft  urgency,  *  Be  merciful,  most  lovely  Alys.'  She 


30  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

answered  him  gravely,  '  I  may  not  presume,  Sire. 
Mercy  is  the  prerogative  of  kings.' 

" '  Ah,  I  cannot  be  merciful,  I  cannot  be  rner- 
ciful ! '  he  cried.  *  I  am  driven,  you  blind  me,  I 
faint.' 

" '  Alas,  my  lord,'  says  the  Countess,  '  if  the 
running  dog  faint,  what  must  the  hind  do  ? ' 

" '  Have  pity,'  says  the  King,  off  his  guard,  '  and 
succour  the  hound.' 

" '  Not  so,  my  lord  King,'  the  Countess  made 
answer,  and  the  true  answer.  '  Not  so,  but  escape 
before  the  hound  wins  back  his  breath.'  Where- 
upon she  lightly  withdrew  her  hand,  and  lightly 
sped  out  of  the  room.  She  went  to  her  ora- 
tory to  make  thanksgiving,  thence  gratefully  to 
bed. 

"  The  King  sat  on  where  he  was  for  a  goodish 
part  of  the  night ;  next  morning  after  mass  took 
his  leave,  with  great  ceremony,  fair  speeches,  and 
no  seen  remembrance.  The  Countess,  who  hoped 
all  good  things  of  him,  paid  him  her  humble  duty, 
and  took  up  again  the  gentle,  ordered  manner  of 
her  life." 

"  I  speak  now,"  the  Scrivener  went  on,  after  a 
pause,  of  a  greater  game  than  chess. 

"  The  first  move  in  this  greater  game  had  been 
played  on  the  very  morning  at  Wark  when  the 
King  took  leave  of  the  Countess  of  Salisbury,  but 
before  such  leave-taking.  Having  slept  badly,  he 
rose  up  betimes  and  sent  for  one  of  the  Coun- 
tess's bedchamber  women,  a  French  woman  called 
Nicole,  recommended  to  him  by  De  Grandison. 
To  her  he  gave  the  balass  ruby  from  his  finger, 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  31 

saying  that  the  Countess  had  won  it  of  him  over- 
night at  chess,  but  had  been  ashamed  to  take  it  of 
him.  Nicole  therefore  was  to  lay  it  among  her 
mistress's  jewels  without  a  word  said ;  and  if  any 
one  at  any  time  remarked  it,  or  asked  whence  it 
came,  he  or  she  (said  the  King)  was  to  be  told, 
that  the  King  had  begged  Madame  Alys  to  accept 
of  it  in  remembrance  of  a  happy  game.  '  Dame, 
Sire ! '  cries  Nicole,  '  but  if  my  mistress  discover 
it  ? '  To  which  the  King  replied,  '  She  will  not 
discover  it,  ma  mie,  if  you  are  a  good  girl ; '  and 

fave  money.     Nicole  promised  to  do  her  duty, 
o  then  the   King  set  out  for  Scotland  in  the 
manner  I  have  told  you  of  already. 

"  After  these  things,  in  the  summer  time,  the 
noble  Earl  of  Salisbury  wrote  letters  to  his  wife, 
saying  that  his  royal  gaoler  of  France,  very  cour- 
teously, had  promised  to  exchange  his  person 
against  that  of  the  Lord  of  Chateaudun,  prisoner 
in  England;  and  that  he  doubted  not  but  the 
King,  his  liege  lord,  would  extend  a  like  grace  in 
favour  of  one  who  had  suffered  only  for  courage 
and  loyalty.  The  Countess  sent  Sir  William  de 
Montacute  in  haste  to  Windsor,  where  the  King 
then  was,  exhibiting  these  matters,  having  no 
question  as  to  the  answer.  But  her  mortification 
was  the  greater  when  William  returned  with  this 
message  in  his  mouth  —  That  the  King's  grace 
would  consider  of  the  exchange  with  the  Countess 
in  person,  and  not  otherwise.  Needs  must  that 
she  go  to  Court,  therefore ;  a  thing  which  (in  the 
absence  of  her  lord)  she  had  never  yet  done. 

"  She  made  herself  ready  with  haste,  and  before 
Saint  John's  Day,  so  much  speed  her  zeal  did  lend 


32  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

her  wit,  set  out  with  the  proper  retinue  of  an 
Earl's  lady,  with  her  husband's  two  sons,  Lancelot 
their  governor,  with  William  de  Montacute  and 
the  household.  She  finds  the  Court  to  be  at 
Eltham;  she  attires  herself  nobly  in  silk  and 
jewels,  looks  like  the  new  moon,  so  thin,  so  clear 
and  bright ;  she  takes  a  lad  by  either  hand,  is 
announced  by  heralds,  falls  at  the  King's  feet. 
'  Sire,  I  am  here,'  saith  she ;  and  the  King,  '  I 
have  grown  old  crying  for  you.'  He  taketh  her 
up  and  kisseth  her  fondly :  '  Alack,  too  fond ! ' 
she  thinks.  He  maketh  her  sit  by  him  upon  his 
high  seat :  '  Alack,  too  high,  too  high ! '  is  her 
moan.  He  reasons  with  her  a  long  time  in  a  low 
but  ardent  voice  about  matters  which  should  need 
but  one  nod  of  the  head.  She,  all  tremulous, 
dares  not  think  of  her  danger  in  view  of  her  lord's 
necessity ;  she  urges,  implores,  shows  tears,  looks 
lovely,  melts  the  King's  heart  to  water.  He  hints 
a  bargain,  she  is  silent ;  he  expounds  it,  and  then 
she  holds  up  her  young  head.  '  My  lord,  my 
lord,'  says  she,  '  I  perceive  that  my  husband  is 
better  in  the  French  King's  prison.  And  to  that 
effect  I  will  write  to  him.'  Says  the  King, 
'  Madame,  you  are  too  hard  with  me :  I  did  but 
try  you.  You  shall  write  to  the  Earl,  saying  that 
for  his  sake  I  give  up  the  Sieur  de  Chateaudun  — 
for  his  sake  and  for  yours.'  '  Sire,'  replied  the 
Countess,  '  I  will  tell  him  that  it  is  for  his  sake, 
and  gladly,  gladly  believe  it.'  '  Do  you  fear  his 
anger  then,'  asks  the  King,  '  that  you  will  be 
silent  about  your  part?'  'No,  Sire,'  she  replies; 
'  but  my  husband  has  fought  and  suffered  for  you  ; 
and  I  would  not  have  him  think  that  you  forget 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  33 

what  he  has  done  on  account  of  what  I  have  not 
done  —  and  should  have  done.' 

" '  Ah,  what  have  you  not  done  that  you  should 
have  done,  dear  madame  ? '  the  King  asks  her 
with  tenderness.  She  replies,  '  Sir,  I  have  not 
done  you  long  service.  I  have  not  marred  my 
face  with  warfare ;  nor  grown  old  in  prison  for  my 
King's  cause.'  '  Farewell,  dear  madame,'  says 
the  King ;  '  I  shall  send  letters  to  France  without 
delay.'  She  withdrew  with  Lancelot  and  the  boys. 
The  King  kept  his  promise,  not  for  the  Earl's  sake 
by  any  means,  and  not  for  the  sake  of  the  Count- 
ess ;  no,  but  because  she  had  shamed  him  into  it. 
But  Otho  de  Grandison,  anxious  man,  saw  very 
well  that  if  dishonesty  were  to  be  reaped  in  the 
Countess,  it  must  first  be  sowed  in  the  Earl. 
And  he  remembered  where  lay  the  King's  ruby 
hid. 

"  The  Earl  came  home  in  May,  a  little,  keen, 
fiery-faced  man,  with  sharp  black  eyes  like  pins' 
heads.  He  was  old,  rather  twisted,  fussy,  choleric, 
stood  greatly  on  punctilio.  The  first  thing  he 
asked  about  was  the  education  of  his  sons,  the 
second,  concerning  the  King's  disposition  towards 
his  house ;  the  third,  of  the  state  of  his  revenues. 
The  Countess  made  him  a  loving  welcome,  as  her 
duty  and  good  heart  prompted,  and  was  glad  to 
be  able  to  satisfy  him.  All  the  accounts  of  his 
castles,  manors,  demesnes,  chases,  warrens,  parks, 
forests,  fishings,  free-and-bond  lands,  were  in  fair 
order;  his  money  in  stronghold,  or  put  out  at 
good  interest  with  the  Lombards  and  Floren- 
tines; his  horses  were  in  stall  and  his  cattle  in 
byre.  His  sons  had  made  diligent  progress  in 


34  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

study :  he  was  well  pleased  with  all  that  he  found, 
and  said  so.  The  King  made  exorbitantly  much 
of  him,  and  caused  him  to  come  every  day  to 
Court.  For  his  sake,  as  he  was  led  to  understand, 
the  Countess  was  appointed  to  a  post  of  great 
honour  at  the  Queen's  side :  so  the  King  saw  her 
as  often  as  he  pleased,  and  the  oftener  he  saw  her 
the  more  pleased  he  was.  You  will  readily  guess 
that  this  lady,  who  had  acted  with  such  rare  dis- 
cretion in  her  husband's  absence,  did  not  weary 
in  well-doing  now  that  he  was  at  home  again.  No 
fault  could  be  found  in  her,  she  made  no  slip,  she 
gave  no  sign,  but  kept  the  flag  of  her  courage  and 
honour  floating  free.  Even  when  the  King  affected 
to  find  (whereas  he  had  obtained  from  Nicole)  one 
of  her  garters,  and  hung  upon  it  a  great  and  high 
Order  of  Chivalry,  she  faltered  not,  lowered  not 
her  crest.  The  Earl  her  husband,  it  must  be 
owned,  was  not  too  well  pleased :  he  thought  the 
King  carried  favour  too  far.  Yet,  sharply  as  he 
watched,  he  could  not  believe  his  wife  in  fault; 
and  the  King  had  a  noble  way  of  frankness,  a 
brave  simplicity  in  all  such  doings,  which  dis- 
armed jealousy  at  the  outset.  When  tongues 
went  into  cheeks,  when  fools  took  heart  to  mock, 
when  eyes  looked  askance,  when  brows  made 
arches  at  this  fact,  '  Shame  upon  the  knight  who 
shamefully  thinketh ! '  cried  our  lord  the  King, 
and  held  aloft  the  blue  girdle  for  all  to  see.  No- 
body after  that  dared  suppose,  and  least  of  all 
the  honest  Earl,  that  any  evil  heat  blew  forth 
such  breath." 

"  It  was  finely  done  in  the  King,"  said  Captain 
Brazenhead. 


THE  SCRIVENER'S   TALE  35 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  says  the  Scrivener.  "  I 
say  that  it  was  finely  conceived.  But  wait  a  little, 
for  now  I  bring  you  to  a  new  move  in  this  game 
which  I  declare  to  have  been  greater  than  chess : 
the  move  of  that  anxious  man  the  lord  Otho  de 
Grandison ;  who,  deeming  himself  the  close  ally 
of  the  King's,  to  rise  when  he  rose  and  fall  if  he 
failed,  thought  fit  to  sow  the  seeds  of  suspicion  in  a 
worthy  man.  To  the  good  Earl  of  Salisbury  came 
this  Otho  by  night,  saying,  '  Heard  you  ever  the 
like  of  this  ?  The  King's  finger  goes  naked.' 

"  *  Ha ! '  says  the  Earl,  not  knowing  what  else 
to  say,  and  weary  by  anticipation  of  the  man. 

"  '  I  mean,'  says  this  Otho, '  that  he  hath  lost,  or 
otherwise  rid  himself  of  the  great  balass  ruby  which 
Tancred  King  of  Sicily  gave  to  King  Richard 
Cordelion;  and  I  think,'  saysjhe,  '  I  think  that  he 
hath  given  it  away.' 

"  '  Oh,  like  enough,'  says  the  Earl ;  '  he  is  a  very 
generous  prince.' 

" '  But  he  worketh  deep,'  says  Otho,  *  and  getteth 
his  profit  better  than  any.  I  suppose  that  this 
ring  is  now  in  a  lady's  neck.' 

" '  And  a  good  place  for  it,  pardieul  says  the 
Earl  without  a  blink,  '  if  so  be  that  the  neck  is  a 
fair  one.'  But  Otho  continued,  '  Well,  well,  if  the 
King  may  wear  a  lady's  garter,  I  suppose  that  a 
lady  may  wear  his  ring.'  And  now  the  Earl 
blinked  sure  enough,  and  asked  Otho  very  shortly 
what  he  meant. 

"  Said  Otho  in  return,  '  All  I  know  for  certain 
is  this,  that  when  the  King  was  at  your  Castle  of 
Wark  in  the  winter,  he  had  the  ring,  and  now  he 
hath  it  not.' 


36  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  The  Earl  turned  upon  him.  '  Do  you  know 
anything,  you  Grandison  ? '  he  asked  him,  with 
clenched  teeth.  '  Or  do  you  presume  to  draw 
at  random,  reckless  whether  your  sister  be  in  the 
way  or  not  ? ' 

" '  By  my  head,'  says  Otho, '  you  wrong  me,  Earl 
of  Salisbury.  I  believe  my  sister's  woman  Nicole 
hath  the  ring.' 

" '  I  bid  you  good  evening,  my  lord,'  says  the 
Earl,  very  stately.  Otho  went  his  ways. 

"  Yet  he  had  sown  mischief  in  a  fair  fallow,  as 
the  Devil  also  sowed  in  Christ's.  The  Earl  sends 
for  the  woman  Nicole  and  straitly  questions 
her.  She,  as  the  way  is  of  women  of  her  condi- 
tion, begins  to  cry,  protesting  her  innocence  and 
virtue  never  impugned  before.  Pressed  harder, 
she  confesses  that  she  did  receive  the  ruby  from 
the  King's  grace,  and  that  her  mistress  now  hath 
it  in  her  coffer.  The  Earl  sent  her  away,  and  went 
himself  to  his  wife's  bedchamber.  She  was  in 
bed  asleep,  but  he  woke  her  up  (not  rudely)  and 
asked  for  the  keys  of  her  strong  coffer.  She  told 
him  where  they  should  be  found,  would  have  gone 
to  get  them  for  him,  but  he  told  her  to  stay  where 
she  was.  She  did  not  ask  him  any  reasons  for 
what  he  did,  seeing  that,  in  her  eyes,  all  his  doings 
were  reason  enough.  After  a  little  he  came  back, 
with  a  torch  in  one  hand,  the  King's  great  ruby 
burning  in  the  other. 

"  *  Look  at  this  ring,  madame,'  he  said, '  and  tell 
me  whose  it  is.' 

"  She  replied,  '  It  is  the  King's,  my  lord.  I  saw 
it  on  his  finger  at  Wark,  and  he  would  have  wa- 
gered it  to  me  in  a  game  of  chess ;  but  I  would  not.' 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  37 

" '  I  found  it  in  your  coffer,'  said  the  Earl.  *  Lie 
down  in  your  bed  again  until  I  require  you.'  So 
said,  he  went  out  to  find  Nicole ;  but  this  time  he 
went  with  a  birch-rod  in  his  hand,  at  mere  sight 
of  which  the  woman  confessed  all  that  she  knew 
or  had  done.  She  told  him  of  the  words  where- 
with the  King  had  given  her  the  jewel,  That  if  any 
one  at  any  time  remarked  it,  she  was  to  say  that 
the  King  had  begged  Madame  Alys  to  accept  it 
in  remembrance  of  a  happy  game.  She  said  also 
that  nobody  had  remarked  it,  not  even  Madame 
Alys  herself,  and  so  the  words  had  never  been 
spoken.  *  By  the  Rood  of  Grace,'  says  the  Earl, 
'  there  was  more  than  chess  at  Wark.' 

"  Being  a  reasonable  man,  he  thought  it  not 
good  to  see  the  King;  being  a  sensible  man,  he 
found  it  not  possible  to  meet  again  his  wife  with- 
out rage;  being  an  honest  man,  he  went  away 
from  London,  giving  out  that  he  had  business  in 
his  lands.  Days  passed,  and  weeks,  a  whole 
summer  time,  but  he  came  not  to  Court.  As 
for  the  Countess,  she  reproached  herself  greatly 
that  she  had  not  sooner  discovered  the  ring  and 
returned  it;  and  to  Nicole,  her  woman,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  take  out  the  jewels  she  might 
happen  to  call  for,  she  spoke  very  sharply,  saying 
that  she  must  have  seen  the  thing  lying  there 
and  known  that  it  had  no  business  there  to  be. 
But  Nicole,  who  desired  above  everything  else 
that  the  affair  should  blow  over,  vowed  by  all  the 
Saints  in  the  Calendar,  both  the  red  and  the 
black,  that  she  had  never  remarked  it  at  all. 
The  Countess  could  not  prove  it  against  her,  nor 
find  anything  in  her  own  conscience  which  called 


38  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

for  weeding  out.  Her  heart  cried  for  her  hus- 
band's return,  that  it  might  be  justified;  mean- 
time, she  must  go  on  as  she  had  ever  done.  She 
occupied  herself,  therefore,  with  her  duties  at 
home  and  abroad,  avoided  the  King  and  the 
King's  friends  as  much  as  she  could,  avoided 
especially  her  brother  Otho,  whom,  without  con- 
scious reason,  she  distrusted,  and  leaned  more 
and  more  upon  Master  Lancelot,  the  governor 
of  her  stepsons.  This  was  a  very  silent  young 
man.  In  company  dumb,  awkward,  and  morose, 
over  his  charges  his  ascendancy  was  assured; 
betwixt  him  and  his  mistress  lay  absolute  faith. 
I  believe  that  she  knew  nothing  of  his  heart,  and 
credit  her  with  caring  nothing  for  it  at  this  time ; 
nevertheless,  with  reason  or  without,  she  leaned 
upon  him  in  her  troubles,  chose  his  company 
before  any  other,  made  herself  snug  with  him  and 
the  boys,  had  him  only  to  read  to  her  of  evenings,  or 
walked  in  the  gardens  by  the  Thames,  up  and  down 
the  grass  alleys,  holding  his  arm.  Very  little 
was  said  between  them,  I  fancy ;  nothing  of  what 
was  wounding  her  in  secret  was  ever  broached 
by  him.  But  if  he  was  sick  she  divined  it,  if  sad 
she  gave  him  silent,  tender  comfort.  She  liked 
to  think  herself  sister  of  this  learned,  continent 
youth ;  more  than  once  it  was  on  the  tip  of  her 
tongue  (which  ran  on  when  at  ease)  to  speak  of 
her  uneasiness.  None  knew  it  better  than  he: 
yet  she  withheld  the  news,  so  the  disquiet  bit 
inwards  and  corroded  in  her  warm  heart.  You 
are  not  likely  to  suppose  this  Lancelot  without 
eyes.  Good  Lord,  the  man  loved  her  deplorably. 
Hanging  (as  he  must)  about  the  Court,  watching 


THE   SCRIVENER'S  TALE  39 

the  King's  preoccupation,  the  importunity  of  the 
King's  friends,  the  flattering  knees  of  all  those 
courtiers  who  prey  upon  the  minions  of  princes ; 
observing  most  of  all  (with  a  heart  of  lead)  the 
fat  smiling,  the  slippery  hands,  the  liquid  back  of 
Sire  Otho  de  Grandison  —  he  suffered  the  tor- 
tures of  the  damned.  '  O  Lord,  this  nasty  snake 
will  lick  my  dove ! '  he  groaned  within  himself, 
and  agonized,  and  could  do  nothing.  So  the 
time  wore,  with  the  Earl  away  in  the  West, 
the  Countess  ill  at  ease;  the  King  idle,  full  of 
dishonest  thought.  But  Otho  was  far  from 
idle. 

"  I  shall  tell  you  now,  companions,  of  the  Earl's 
last  tournament :  as  thus :  — 

"About  the  feast  of  Saint  Michael  and  the 
Angels,  our  lord  the  King  proclaimed  a  great 
tournament  to  be  held  in  the  Moorfields  by  Lon- 
don, whereat  himself  and  his  friends,  De  Grandi- 
son, Badlesmere,  Pembroke,  Sir  Walter  Manny, 
and  others  would  hold  the  field  against  all  comers. 
The  Queen  of  Beauty  at  this  festival,  the  holder 
of  the  Crown,  the  cynosure  and  pleasant  Goad 
to  great  Gestes  was  to  be  Madame  Alys,  Countess 
of  Salisbury,  who  most  unwillingly  usurped  the 
place  of  the  true  Queen,  Madame  Philippa,  a 
noble-hearted  though  unpleasing  lady.  She,  as 
luck  must  have  it,  was  in  Flanders  at  the  time, 
visiting  her  blood-relation  the  Count  of  Hainault ; 
therefore  Madame  Alys,  because  she  knew  not 
how  honourably  to  refuse  the  King  what  he  asked 
her  with  great  insistence  on  honour,  consented 
—  but  with  tears.  Her  friend  Lancelot  had  no 


40  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

comfort  to  give  her.  (  Help  me  here,  Lancelot,' 
she  had  said,  with  a  gentle  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
4  By  my  head,  madame,  I  cannot  advise  you  in  a 
King's  matter.'  '  Then  you  have  no  love  for  me, 
Lancelot.'  Whereupon  he  fiercely,  'Why,  what 
right  have  I  to  give  you  love  ? '  She  could  not 
answer  him  any  more  than  she  could  answer  the 
King. 

"  On  the  day  set  apart,  the  lists  were  marked 
out  and  hung  with  white,  green  and  yellow;  the 
Castle  was  prepared  with  the  banners  of  England 
and  France,  and  a  fair  tribune  displayed  midway 
of  the  career  with  a  bower  of  red  and  white  roses 
upon  it ;  wherein  sat  the  dark-haired  Alys  in  a 
red  gown  powdered  with  silver  moons,  and  on 
her  head  a  crown  of  white  flowers.  All  about 
her  were  noble  ladies  and  virgins,  wives  and 
daughters  of  princes,  dukes,  earls  and  viscounts, 
with  pages  —  among  whom  the  two  sons  of  the 
Earl  her  husband — and  esquires  of  honour.  All 
the  chivalry  of  England  was  there  to  joust. 

"Very  great  fighting  was  very  cheerfully  ac- 
complished in  this  glorious  field.  Many  knights 
became  acquainted  with  the  dust,  some  became 
dust;  many  lost  their  helms,  but  none  their  hearts, 
except  in  the  way  of  love,  and  that  most  of  them 
had  done  already.  And  then,  lo !  in  the  after- 
noon, about  three  o'clock,  a  herald  at  the  gate 
proclaimed  the  high,  noble  and  excellent  prince 
and  lord,  my  Lord  William  Earl  of  Salisbury, 
come  in  arms  to  face  the  Castle.  And  the  King's 
herald  let  cry  (by  the  King's  command),  '  Your 
lord  the  Earl  shall  have  what  he  desires.'  So 
the  Earl  of  Salisbury,  bravely  armed,  rode  in  upon 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  41 

a  great  horse,  a  squire  on  either  hand,  one  to 
carry  his  spear,  the  other  his  shield.  The  fair 
Countess  was  seen  to  have  eyes  for  none  but  her 
husband,  though  she  never  failed  of  courtesy 
to  those  about  her.  As  for  the  King,  he  greeted 
the  Earl  fairly  as  if  he  knew  nothing  of  his  go- 
ings or  comings  (which  indeed  he  did  not  for  a 
certainty),  and  was  gravely  saluted  in  return. 
My  lord  Otho  de  Grandison  did  not  appear  in 
the  lists,  and  was  no  more  seen  that  day,  save  by 
one. 

"  One  by  one  the  King's  friends  jousted  with 
the  Earl,  and  one  by  one  were  discomfited.  Then 
came  forth  the  Black  Prince,  the  noblest  young 
man,  I  suppose,  that  had  been  in  England  since 
King  Richard's  day.  With  him,  to  the  wonder 
of  all,  the  Earl  refused  to  fight.  '  My  Prince,' 
said  he,  '  I  am  of  your  party  always :  I  will  never 
fight  with  you.'  The  Prince  laughed  to  hear 
him,  and  said,  *  Fight  with  my  father,  then,  my 
lord  Earl,  if  I  am  not  man  enough.'  '  Too  much 
man,  my  Prince,'  says  the  Earl.  '  But  I  will  tilt 
against  our  lord  the  King  gladly,  so  far  as  I  may 
with  honour.'  Upon  this  rode  out  the  noble 
King  Edward  himself,  very  splendid  in  his  gilded 
armour,  and  saluted  the  Earl  of  Salisbury. 

"  '  You  will  tilt  with  me,  fair  lord  ? '  he  asked. 

"  *  I  will  indeed,  Sire,'  replies  the  Earl ;  '  but 
first  a  word  in  your  private  ear.' 

"  '  Speak,  man,'  says  the  King.  The  Earl  went 
very  close,  and  showed  the  King  his  ruby. 

" '  Do  you  know  this,  Sire  ? ' 

" '  Perfectly  well.  It  was  mine  until  I  lost  it  at 
play.  How  got  you  it  ? ' 


42  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"'I  may  not  tell  you,  Sir,'  says  the  Earl;  'btit 
I  will  make  good  my  title  to  it  here  and  now,  if 
God  judge  fairly  of  my  cause.' 

" '  God  will  work  His  will,'  said  the  King ;  '  I 
am  sure  of  that.  Make  you  ready,  my  lord.' 

"  Three  careers  they  tilted,  more  fiercely  than 
king  and  vassal  should.  In  the  first  the  King 
bore  down  the  Earl,  in  the  second  the  Earl  the 
King.  In  the  third  they  broke  their  spears,  and 
were  parted.  Entering  his  tent,  the  King  says  to 
De  Grandison,  '  The  Earl  hath  the  ruby  I  gave  to 
Madame  Alys.  This  frets  me  sorely.'  '  Sire,'  re- 
plies De  Grandison,  'have  at  him  in  the  melee  and 
win  it  of  him.'  '  No,  no,'  said  the  King,  '  I  will 
fight  him  no  more,  lest  I  have  to  reproach  myself 
with  the  hurt  of  a  good  man.  But  after  the 
tournament,  Otho,  do  you  find  me  the  Earl  and 
bring  him  in.'  '  I  will  bring  him,  Sire,'  says  Otho, 
'  or  the  ring.'  '  One,  the  other,  or  both,'  the  King 
said ;  '  I  care  not  which.' 

"  The  melee  followed,  in  which  the  King  did  not 
fight  —  and  rightly,  since  this  is  a  very  perilous 
thing,  and  the  King's  person  no  more  to  be  re- 
garded in  it  than  a  common  person's,  when  all  are 
heated  and  blind  with  dust.  Moreover,  it  is  the 
time  of  times  to  wreak  private  vengeances,  fight 
out  private  quarrels,  cover  all  kinds  of  sin.  But 
all  the  King's  party  were  there,  and  among  them 
De  Grandison  secretly;  yet  not  so  secretly  but 
that  Lancelot  observed  him,  or  (rather)  observed 
that  the  numbers  of  that  side  were  full.  Now,  he 
knew  that  the  King  would  not  be  in  the  melee, 
and  much  wondered  who  it  could  be  that  stood 
in  his  place.  Afterwards  he  wondered  the  more 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  43 

earnestly,  and  in  time  understood.  For  in  the 
midst  of  the  clamour  there  was  a  piercing  cry 
from  the  Countess,  'Alas,  alas,  my  dear  lord!' 
and  then  from  the  knights  another  cry,  '  The  Earl 
of  Salisbury  is  down ! '  The  Countess  turned  grey 
where  she  fell  and  was  carried  out.  When  they 
came  to  take  up  the  body  of  the  Earl  her  husband, 
they  found  it  short  of  a  finger  in  addition  to  other 
wounds  which  it  had.  Here  was  a  sorrowful  end- 
ing to  a  glorious  day.  The  good  Earl  of  Salisbury 
was  dead,  thinking  injuriously  of  his  young  wife ; 
she,  poor  soul,  was  widow  before  she  could  hope 
to  have  been  mother;  and  a  lad  of  sixteen  years 
old  laid  upon  suddenly  by  the  hand  of  God  to  be 
a  peer  of  England  and  a  prince.  They  bore  the 
body  of  the  Earl  to  his  palace  in  the  Strand,  and 
laid  it  among  torches  in  the  chapel.  Six  priests 
said  six  masses  every  morning,  but  the  Countess 
would  never  go  near  the  place.  She  sat  alone, 
without  tears,  saying  to  all  who  came  to  her,  '  He 
hated  me,  and  thought  me  wicked.  If  I  went 
near  him  now  his  wounds  would  spit  blood  at  me 
—  and  I  dare  not.'  But  she  sent  Lancelot  daily 
to  see  how  he  looked,  and  every  time  that  he 
came  back,  reporting,  '  There  is  peace  upon  his 
face  and  sure  knowledge  of  the  truth,'  she  shook 
her  head  and  motioned  with  her  lips  to  make  the 
words, '  He  thinks  me  vile,  and  I  am  vile.'  So  they 
buried  the  Earl  without  any  last  look  from  her  who 
had  served  him  so  well. 

"  The  King,  having  his  ring  back  at  the  hands 
of  De  Grandison,  looked  shrewdly  at  him  as  he 
asked,  '  How  got  you  that,  Otho  ? '  The  other 
replied,  '  My  lord,  when  the  Earl  was  dead,  I 


44  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

thought   it  no  robbery  to   take  what  was  never 
his.'     And  he  was  questioned  no  further. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Scrivener,  after  an  impressive 
pause,  "you  shall  hear  me  make  an  end  of  this 
history,  when  I  have  told  you,  how  a  pawn  gained 
a  queen,  and  gave  the  King  check." 

"  By  the  soul  of  any  dog,"  says  Captain  Brazen- 
head,  who  had  seen  whereabouts  by  this  time  were 
the  hands  of  Percival  Perceforest  and  Mawdleyn 
Touchett.  "  By  the  soul  of  any  dog,  Scrivener,  I 
know  what  you  are  going  to  say." 

"  You  know  nothing  at  all,  it  seems  to  me,"  said 
the  Scrivener ;  "  kindly  be  quiet." 

"  Now,"  he  went  on,  "  you  shall  understand  that 
after  the  death  of  the  Earl,  the  King  was  most 
discreet  towards  the  widowed  Countess  —  discreet 
with  the  discretion  of  a  dog  that  waits  for  a  bone ; 
for  though  he  never  moved  during  the  days  of 
her  retirement,  he  let  it  be  seen  that  he  was  ready 
to  go  as  far  as  a  king  can  go.  There  was  an  air 
of  '  as  you  will  have  it,  but  — '  in  all  his  dealings ; 
more  than  that,  he  had  the  young  Earl  girt  with 
his  father's  sword  and  brought  to  Court  the  mo- 
ment the  funerals  were  over,  thinking  (O  guile 
that  love  lends !),  '  Her  anxieties  for  him  will  bring 
her  after.'  As  indeed  they  did.  Determined  as 
ever  she  had  been  that  the  young  man  should 
walk  as  his  father  had  desired,  she  took  up  her 
duties  again  about  the  Queen's  person  within  the 
week  after  her  widow's  seclusion. 

"  Here  I  say,  Alas,  that  our  honest  motions  often 
prove  the  means  of  dishonesty  in  others !  This 
youth,  the  door  of  the  world  flung  open  before  his 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  45 

tender  eyes,  was  (as  it  were)  blinded  and  made 
drunk  by  the  glory  revealed.  As  he  learned  to 
walk  in  it  he  fancied  himself  a  personage;  he 
paid  court  where  he  thought  courtship  was  due, 
he  worked  to  advance  himself,  loved  to  be  modish, 
found  the  sweets  of  his  stepmother  insipid  beside 
the  wine  of  the  King's  sons.  From  them  he  learned 
the  tired  vices  of  kings,  with  them  appraised  all 
women  by  the  measure  of  them  that  are  no 
women  at  all ;  from  them  he  learned  how  out  of 
measure  the  King  himself  favoured  his  stepmother. 
Soho !  thought  this  solemn-foolish,  old-young  man. 
Soho !  What  a  scaling-ladder  for  the  house  of 
Montacute;  and  how  fumblingly  did  our  father  go 
about  his  building!  In  his  sagacious  mind  he 
turned  the  thought  over  and  over :  '  The  more  she 
favours  the  King,  the  more  he  favours  us.'  To 
whom  then  should  the  poor  woman  turn  ?  The 
mind  of  her  brother  Otho  she  knew  too  well,  soon 
the  mind  of  her  stepson  Salisbury  she  dared  not 
read,  lest  she  should  come  to  know  that  also.  She 
turned  her  pleading  eyes  to  God ;  and,  praying  so, 
she  turned  her  worn,  pure  cheek  to  Lancelot's 
view ;  and  as  his  heart  bled  at  the  sight,  so  the 
blood  boiled  as  it  flowed.  Some  dark  design  was 
afoot,  he  considered :  he  remembered  the  man  in 
the  melee  (not  the  King),  and  the  Earl's  maimed 
hand.  The  Earl  had  found  the  King's  jewel,  and 
had  worn  it:  who  had  it  now?  Who  had  cut 
off  a  finger  to  have  it  ?  That  man  had  cut  more 
than  a  finger,  he  judged ;  he  had  cut  the  thread 
of  a  noble  life.  Why,  you  ask  me,  did  he  not  tell 
these  things  to  the  Countess  ?  For  this  reason, 
that  he  loved  her  more  than  his  life,  dearly,  all 


46  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

day  and  all  night.  '  If  I  tell  her  half  the  truth,' 
he  said  to  himself, '  I  may  shock  her  into  my  arms. 
God  forbid  that  I  should  try  to  serve  her  with  an 
unclean  will.'  Therefore  he  suffered  apart,  wast- 
ing to  see  her  surfer;  and  the  very  depth  of  his 
love  kept  him  dumb  before  her.  She  often  came 
to  him  to  consult  him,  trusted  him  above  all  men. 
He  could  give  her  little  help,  since  his  tongue  was 
tied  to  his  heartstrings.  She  thought  him  weary 
of  her,  thought  him  harsh  in  judgment,  sighed  to 
see  him  estranged.  Alack,  he  took  her  wages,  and 
loved  her:  what  else  could  he  do  but  keep  strange? 
"  After  Christmas  matters  came  to  a  head.  The 
King,  infatuated  beyond  belief,  heaped  honour  upon 
honour  before  her  feet.  Unheard-of  fact  in  chiv- 
alry, he  gave  her  the  Order  of  the  Garter!  Upon 
her  arm  she  wore  that  first  mark  upon  her  fail- 
name  ;  nor  could  she  do  otherwise,  since  the  King 
publicly  invested  her.  He  gave  her  good  manors, 
castles,  towns,  tolls  and  markets,  profits  of  the  sea, 
profits  of  the  earth  and  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 
She  was  feasted,  sung,  done  homage,  courted  by 
the  great  who  would  be  greater,  adored  by  the 
simple  who  aped  the  great.  So  one  day  in  this 
time  of  stormy  worship  the  lightning  blared  upon 
her,  the  sky  split  open ;  she  saw  depth  within  depth 
of  ruin,  shame,  shock  and  depravation.  In  a  word, 
her  stepson  the  young  Earl  came  to  visit  her,  and 
made  bad  truth  worse  by  ill-telling.  She  could 
not  stop  him,  she  could  not  answer  him,  she  was 
cut  to  the  quick  of  the  heart.  But  she  called  for 
a  cup  of  water,  being  white  and  faint,  leaning  by 
the  wall ;  and  when  this  dolt  had  run  to  fetch  it, 
she  stumbled,  sick  and  blind  and  hunted,  from  the 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  47 

room,  and  felt  her  way  by  the  walls  to  Lancelot's 
oratory,  where  that  young  man  was  praying  before 
a  little  altar. 

"  As  he  turned  his  head  he  saw  his  beautiful 
mistress  come  wavering  towards  him,  her  hands 
held  out  for  some  stay ;  so  scared  and  white,  so 
open-mouthed  before  misery,  flickering  so  like  a 
blown  flame,  so  distraught,  so  much  younger  than 
she  could  have  been  —  he  thought  her  dead,  and 
this  her  unquiet  ghost. 

" '  What  dost  thou  with  me,  spirit  ? '  he  whis- 
pered on  his  knees. 

" '  O  Lancelot,  O  Lancelot !  *  she  wailed,  and 
ran  and  fell  upon  him,  and  clung  fast  to  his 
shoulders. 

"  He  put  her  in  the  only  chair  there  was,  knelt 
beside  her,  stroked  her  to  calmness.  After  much 
shivering  and  moaning,  she  became  very  drowsy ; 
so  he  laid  her  on  his  bed,  and  for  fear  her  rest 
should  be  disturbed,  locked  the  door.  In  an  hour 
or  more  of  time,  whereas  she  still  slept  soundly, 
he  heard  in  the  passage  the  beginnings  of  rumour, 
the  steps  of  many  feet,  persons  running,  search- 
ing, talking  together;  then  sudden  pause;  in 
a  profound  hush  the  quick  steps  of  one  man ; 
then  the  sharp  voice  of  the  King.  '  Lord 
Jesus,  now  help  thy  servants,'  said  he ;  '  they 
will  certainly  wake  my  mistress.  It  will  be  bet- 
ter for  me,'  he  considered,  'to  unlock  the  door 
and  meet  her  enemies  in  the  gate.  As  they 
have  done  evil,  so  they  can  imagine  nothing  but 
evil.'  So  thought,  so  done ;  he  unlocked  the  door, 
opened  it  wide,  went  down  the  corridor,  and  knelt 
before  our  lord  the  King,  who  with  young  Salis- 


48  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

bury,  Otho  de  Grandison  and  some  other  one  or 
two  held  debate  in  the  armoury.  '  Sire,'  says  this 
Lancelot,  '  my  lady  is  asleep,  and  it  were  better 
that  she  saw  not  your  Grace.' 

"  *  Who  may  you  be,  young  man  ? '  says  the 
King ;  and  Lancelot  on  his  knees,  '  I  am  one, 
my  lord  King,  who  speaks  the  truth  from  a  very 
full  mind.' 

" '  A  pest,  fellow,  on  your  mind  ! '  says  the  young 
Earl  of  Salisbury  to  his  late  governor:  for  this 
is  the  way  of  the  suddenly  aggrandized,  that  they 
think  meanly  of  those  that  have  not  outstripped 
them. 

"  *  Be  silent,  sir,'  said  the  King  greatly :  *  this  is 
no  way  to  use  to  gentlemen  in  any  company.'  To 
Lancelot,  '  Get  up,  my  friend,'  says  he,  '  and  speak 
your  mind.'  Answers  him  Lancelot,  *  Nay,  Sire, 
by  your  leave ;  but  what  I  have  to  say  must  by 
all  means  be  said  on  my  knees.'  *  As  you  will,' 
says  the  King,  '  but  be  brief.' 

" '  Sire,'  said  Lancelot,  '  so  I  will.  My  dear 
mistress,  four  months  widowed  of  a  noble  gentle- 
man, hath  this  day  suffered  a  great  shock.  What 
that  may  be,  let  my  late  master's  son  inform  your 
Grace ;  or  if  he  choose  silence  for  his  part,  as  I 
suppose  he  will,  let  my  lord  Sire  Otho  de  Grandi- 
son take  up  his  parable.' 

" '  Speak,  Earl  of  Salisbury,'  said  the  King. 
But  the  young  man  would  not.  Otho  de  Grandi- 
son chose  otherwise.  '  Dear  Sir,'  says  he,  '  I  guess 
what  this  stammering  person  means,  but  do  not 
care  greatly  to  sully  your  mind  with  his  sick  dis- 
tortions. The  lady  is  timid,  and  close  by.  A 
sight  of  your  royal  face  —  remembrance  quick- 


THE  SCRIVENER'S  TALE  49 

ened  by  sight  of  your  royal  finger  —  will  hearten 
her.  Let  me  persuade  your  Grace  to  do  her  so 
much  favour.  Afterward  she  shall  bear  your  cup 
at  dinner,  and  the  wine  taste  no  worse  for  the 
wooing  of  her  lips.  Shall  it  be  so  ? '  Lancelot 
saw  the  ruby  on  the  King's  hand,  and  De  Grandi- 
son  look  at  it.  So  then  he  knew  the  whole  truth 
as  in  a  flash. 

"  The  King  thought  for  a  little,  then  said, '  Yes, 
yes,  we  will  certainly  see  Madame  Alys.  Lead 
us,  Sir.'  This  to  Lancelot,  who  stood  his  ground 
for  all  that. 

"  '  Sire,'  said  the  young  man, '  I  will  go  to  waken 
my  lady,  if  needs  must.  And  I  will  tell  her, 
Sire,  that  the  beguiler  of  Nicole  the  tirewoman 
is  here,  and  the  undoer  of  a  man's  faith  by  means 
of  a  ring ;  and  also  the  unknown  knight  who,  in 
the  melee  at  Moorfields,  slew  by  a  foul  stroke  my 
lord  the  Earl  of  Salisbury,  and  cut  off  a  finger 
of  his  hand.'  He  had  raised  his  voice  to  speak 
and  gathered  courage  as  he  went  from  the  great- 
ness of  his  matter;  but  now,  when  he  paused, 
there  was  a  dreadful  silence;  and  presently  the 
King  swore,  '  Death  in  life ! '  and  laid  a  hand  to 
his  sword;  and  next  immediately  there  was  a 
hubbub  of  voices,  with  the  swishing  of  swords 
as  they  slipped.  '  Down  with  him !  cut  open  his 
face ! '  and  other  such  cries  rang  down  the  corri- 
dor; but  Lancelot  stood  his  ground.  Then  all 
swords  dropped  and  all  tongues  were  still  as  the 
Countess  Alys  came  softly  out  of  the  oratory 
through  the  open  door,  and  stood  by  the  young 
man's  side.  Men  marvelled  to  see  the  sharpness 
of  her  features,  to  hear  the  dry  whispering  of  her 


50  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

tongue.  Deeply,  deeply,  she  curtsied  to  the 
King. 

" '  I  am  here,'  she  said,  '  to  welcome  Pandarus 
the  First,  and  Pandarus  the  Second,  my  kinsmen. 
But  I  bend  my  knee  to  the  august  confidant  of 
Nicole  the  tirewoman,  and  prostrate  myself  to  the 
giver  of  rings  in  secret.  And  as  ladies  should,  I 
would  kiss  the  hand  of  the  unknown  knight  who 
took  my  husband's  life,  and  cut  off  his  dead  finger. 
Where  is  this  knight,  my  lord  King  ? '  She  stood 
before  the  King  with  her  arms  stiff  at  her  sides ; 
her  two  fists  were  clenched,  her  chin  set  hard,  her 
eyes  dangerously  bright.  No  man  answered  her. 

"  After  a  time  of  suspense  she  shut  her  eyes  and 
began  to  sway  about.  '  I  am  faint,  Lancelot,'  she 
said,  '  take  me  back  to  the  oratory ;  quick,  quick.' 
He  supported  her  with  his  arm,  turned,  led  her 
away.  Believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  not  one 
man  of  all  that  noble  company  followed  or  so 
much  as  started  to  follow  her ;  but  all  stayed  where 
they  were,  rooted  to  the  ground.  When  the  door 
of  the  oratory  was  shut  (but  not  locked)  the  King 
held  up  his  head.  '  My  lords,'  he  said,  '  I  am 
rightly  admonished.  That  is  a  very  noble  lady. 
And  as  for  the  young  clerk,  I  wish  I  had  bishops 
after  that  model.  Follow  me,  Sirs.'  So  he,  too, 
turned  and  went,  they  following  in  silence.  But 
he  went  the  other  way. 

"  Now  while  his  mistress  lay  with  shut  eyes 
upon  the  bed,  Lancelot  cast  himself  before  the 
Crucified  to  ask  forgiveness  of  heaven  for  hav- 
ing dared  the  majesty  of  his  earthly  lord.  And 
while  he  was  there  at  his  cold  prayers,  not  yet 
risen  from  his  knees,  this  pretty  lady  slipped  off 


THE   SCRIVENER'S  TALE  51 

the  bed  and  came  and  knelt  beside  him,  as  close 
as  she  dared,  in  the  soft  mood  which  follows  strong 
exaltation  of  spirit,  her  hands  folded  in  her  neck, 
roses  burning  in  her  cheeks,  her  head  bent,  her 
bosom  not  reposing.  For  a  while  they  knelt 
tremblingly  together,  until  Lancelot  shivered 
and  sighed.  His  head  ached,  his  fire  was  gone 
out  in  ashes,  he  was  honestly  sick,  saw  no  out- 
gate.  So  then,  as  he  made  to  get  up  and  resume 
his  dead  life  of  serving  days,  '  Leave  me  not  yet, 
Lancelot,'  says  the  Countess  in  a  fluttering 
whisper ;  and  as  he  turned  she  turned ;  their 
eyes  swam  together,  she  threw  herself  upon  his 
breast.  In  a  trice  his  arms  had  her  fast.  She 
said,  *  If  thou  goest  I  go  with  thee.' 

" '  Ah,  whither,  sweet  soul  ? '  he  sighs ;  and  she 
without  looking  up,  tells  him, '  To  thy  heart,  Lance- 
lot, to  sanctuary  there.' 

"  That  night  they  left  London  privily  by  river ; 
and  when  my  informant  had  news  of  them  last 
they  were  in  Ghent,  a  most  fond  pair  of  wedded 
lovers.  For  he  never  took  up  orders,  as  I  dare  say 
you  guess." 

"  I  find  that  they  are  killing  a  pig  in  Alresford," 
said  Richard  Smith  the  shipman,  after  a  little.  He 
knew  not  what  else  to  say,  and  it  was  perfectly 
true.  The  arm  of  Percival  Perceforest  slipped 
down  from  Mawdleyn  Touchett's  waist;  and  the 
Prioress  of  Ambresbury  praised  the  tale. 

"  I  am  glad  your  ladyship  likes  it,"  said  the 
Scrivener;  "for  that  emboldens  me  to  add  that 
the  young  man's  name  was  Lancelot  Corbet, 
which  is  my  own  name." 


52  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  Ha !  "  cried  Captain  Brazenhead,  "  Ha,  Scrive- 
ner! And  he  was  no  mean  poet,  they  tell  me. 
And  made  other  handsome  things  beside  couplets, 
I'll  engage." 

"  He  was  my  grandfather,"  said  the  Scrivener, 
"  and  a  very  fine  poet.  And  Madame  Alys  de 
Grandison,  Countess  of  Salisbury,  whom  a  king 
loved  in  vain,  was  my  grandmother." 

"  Therefore,"  concluded  Captain  Brazenhead, 
looking  benevolently  at  the  demure  Percival, 
"  Therefore,  ladies  and  good  sirs,  the  lowliest  of 
us  may  aspire,  and  bright  blood  make  a  rough 
case  as  soft  as  silk,  hey  ?  "  Percival  coloured  up, 
but  was  grateful  to  his  friend. 

Then  the  company,  topping  the  crest,  rode  in 
between  the  tasselled  trees  which  led  to  the  fair 
town  of  Alresford  on  the  hill. 


DAN  COSTARD'S  TALE 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE 

PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST,  the  second  day  out,  was 
overheard  singing  to  himself  a  song  which  begins, 

"  Now,  Winter,  go  away, 
And  hide  thy  white  array," 

Gratia  Magdalena  — 

and  compelled  to  sing  it  all.     So  he  did. 

When  it  was  done,  "  Thus  women  sing  women, 
but  not  men  women,"  said  Smith  the  mariner  to 
his  wife.  "  Here  we  have  for  certain  old  Brazen- 
top's  mye  tricked  as  a  boy  for  the  road." 

"  What  hast  thou  to  do  therein,  since  I  am  with 
thee,  honey  ? "  asked  she. 

"  More  than  saints'  love  went  to  the  making 
of  that  ballad,  young  gentleman,"  was  the  judg- 
ment of  Dan  Costard,  the  mild  old  priest  from 
Ambresbury. 

"  We  needs  must  love  as  we  are  able,  sir,"  Per- 
cival  replied.  "  And  for  my  part,  I  hope  Saint 
Mary  Mawdleyn  will  heed  my  crying,  and  give 
me  good  comfort  in  the  end." 

"  Do  you  think  it  needful  to  human  contention," 
said  the  Scrivener,  "  that  man  should  love  maid  or 
maid  man  ?  "  Plainly  Percival  thought  so. 

"  Nennil"  continued  the  other,  "  by  no  means. 
You  will  have  heard  of  Narcissus,  a  fair  youth  of 
heathenry,  who,  seeing  his  own  face  reflected  in 
a  pool,  loved  it ;  madly  kissed  his  own  lips,  and 

55 


56  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

falling  into  his  own  arms,  upon  his  own  bosom 
was  drowned  in  his  own  bliss,  inexorable  self- 
lover!" 

"A  wicked  imagination  of  a  wicked  race  of 
men,"  says  Dan  Costard. 

"  Heh,  heh ! "  cried  the  Scrivener,  "  May  be. 
But  I  can  give  you  a  Christian  prince  in  no  bet- 
ter state  of  grace  as  touching  his  conduct,  though 
his  hope,  no  doubt,  was  what  Christ  made  it. 
This  was  Harry  the  well-beloved.  Heard  you 
ever  of  him  ? " 

"  What  Harry  is  this  ?  For  we  live  under  the 
sixth  of  that  name." 

"  We  live  under  the  seventh,"  said  the  Scrive- 
ner, "if  I  am  right.  For  this  Harry  was  King 
Harry's  eldest  son,  crowned  in  his  lifetime.  He 
was  son  of  King  Harry  Short-Coat,  the  king  who 
in  the  fierceness  of  his  nature  said,  '  Rid  me  of 
Thomas  Beket.'  Ah,  and  they  rid  him !  But 
they  gat  him  in  his  room  Saint  Thomas  of  Can- 
terbury, towards  whom  we  ride,  who  ruled  him 
with  a  longer  rod  than  the  Chancellor  ever  did. 
Well  then,  this  young  Harry  loved  himself,  and 
so  in  his  own  love  was  drowned.  r  Listen,  all  of 
you,  to  what  I  say  of  him." 

"  By  Thomas,"  said  Salomon  Brazenhead,  "  I 
will  not  listen.  All  day  yesterday  you  prated  of 
kings  and  their  affairs.  I,  who  own  kings  for 
my  familiar  divinities,  as  dwellers  upon  my  very 
hearthstone,  I  and  my  nephew  Piers " 

The  Shipman  scoffed  —  "His  nephew,  quod 
he!" 

"  And  my  nephew  Thrustwood,"  continued  the 
Captain  with  severity  —  for  as  Piers  Thrustwood 


DAN  COSTARD'S  TALE  57 

his  nephew  he  had  smuggled  in  Percival  Perce- 
forest  the  beaten  lover  —  "know  too  much  of 
kings  to  value  your  descant  upon  them.  Let 
us  hear  of  common  persons,  if  you  please,  with 
saintliness  playing  a  part,  if  possible :  as  to  wit, 
Saint  Mary  Mawdleyn." 

"  Well,"  says  the  Scrivener,  "  I  will  please  you 
if  I  can."  But  Captain  Brazenhead  had  not  done 
with  him. 

"  I  say  further,  Scrivener,"  he  went  on,  "  that 
her  ladyship  of  Ambresbury  shall  choose  the 
teller  of  the  tale,  and  not  your  sufficiency." 

"  I  choose  for  Dan  Costard,"  says  the  Prioress 
at  once ;  "  for  I  believe  edification  is  in  the  air." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  my  lady ! "  Percival  cried ; 
and  Mawdelyn  Touchett  agreed. 

"  Speak,  old  man,  speak,"  said  Captain  Brazen- 
head  kindly ;  "  I  like  the  looks  of  thee." 

Dan  Costard  stroked  his  chin.  "  Much  good 
may  that  do  me,"  says  he.  He  perused  the  blue 
sky  for  awhile,  spoke  to  himself,  with  grunts  and 
sniffs  intermixed,  apostrophized  the  Mater  Dei, 
abjured  the  enemy  of  mankind ;  then  dug  his 
heels  into  his  horse's  ribs,  and  began, 

THE  LOVING  HISTORY  OF  PERIDORE  AND 
.  PARA  VAIL 

"  Augustine  crieth  unto  God,  '  Behold,  O  Lord, 
yea,  behold  patiently  as  Thou  art  wont,  how  care- 
fully the  sons  of  men  observe  the  accustomed  rules 
of  letters  and  syllables  received  from  elder  times, 
neglecting  the  eternal  covenant  of  salvation  which 
they  have  from  Thee ! '  And  I  say,  that  they 


58  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

may  observe  more  than  syllables  and  yet  be  nearly 
damned.  The  tale  is  all  of  Blessed  Vigilas,  hermit 
of  Cauntrip,  who  dwelt  in  a  wattled  hut  by  Bleme 
Barrow  under  the  shadow  of  the  Druse  Ring,  and 
saw  visions  and  did  marvels  almost  daily,  by  reason 
of  his  fastings,  stripes,  flagellations,  macerations, 
prayers  incessant,  and  tortures  of  the  abominable 
flesh.  Of  the  which  thaumaturgies  and  ascetics 
of  his,  if  I  were  to  begin  to  tell  you,  I  should  speak 
from  here  unto  Canterbury,  and  from  Canterbury 
to  Chalcedon  without  rest  for  refreshment.  So  I 
refrain.  I  choose  rather  to  tell  of  his  dire  temp- 
tation, and  his  conflict  with  old  Legion,  King  of 
the  Devils;  of  how  he  fought  and  how  at  last 
prevailed.  So  the  tale  is  of  simple  persons ;  of 
this  Vigilas,  of  Peridore  the  shepherd  and  of  Para- 
vail  his  fosterling,  a  slip  of  a  girl  whose  hair  was 
colour  of  dormice  and  her  feet  lighter  than  a  hare's, 
and  her  lot  more  unhappy  than,  may  be,  any  woman 
can  deserve.  For  my  own  part,  the  more  I  know 
of  women  (saving  this  company)  the  less  I  think 
they  deserve  of  good  or  ill  fortune ;  but  my  part 
is  not  the  tale's,  so  I  forbear.  This  gaunt  red 
shell  of  a  man,  whom  his  generation  revered  as 
Blessed  Vigilas  (beatified  in  his  lifetime  by  the 
Bishop  of  Rewish),  had  lived  thirty  of  his  forty 
years  alone  under  the  sky  of  Cauntrip  Plain,  a 
desperate  man  of  God.  There  was  none  holier  in 
the  shire,  nor  saint  in  the  hierarchy  more  wor- 
shipped than  he  by  the  men  of  the  City  of  Rewish 
(who  first  hailed  him  Blessed)  or  by  them  of  the 
vills,  towns,  parishes  and  hamlets  of  Cleyhungre, 
Clyst  Saint-George,  Amberford-Mary,  Amberford- 
Prior,  Markgate,  Percimere,  Shotley  and  Drem  — 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  59 

villages  all  of  shepherds  and  hinds,  tillers  and 
browsers  of  the  soil,  which  lie  about  the  grassy 
sea  of  Cauntrip :  none,  I  say,  more  worshipped  or 
with  better  reason  than  Blessed  Vigilas,  hermit  of 
Bleme. 

"  But  such  earthly  honour  is  in  itself  a  snare, 
not  the  least  searching  of  the  Enemy's,  or  so 
seems  to  be.  In  the  thirtieth  year  of  this  man's 
holiness,  the  twelfth  of  his  beatification,  the  fortieth 
of  his  age,  there  came  to  pass,  about  the  day  of 
Allhallows,  a  terrible  storm  of  thunder,  lightning 
and  rain ;  the  which  (being  a  time  for  warlocks, 
witches,  devils  and  similar  fiends  to  hold  Sabbath 
in)  was  the  very  time  for  Vigilas  to  pray  abroad. 
Pray  he  did,  kneeling  in  torrents  of  water,  like  the 
thunder's  self  roaring  his  cries  to  God  and  the 
Archangels.  And  as  he  was  upon  this  pious  strife, 
kneeling  not  far  from  the  dreadful  circle  of  rocks 
which  they  of  Cauntrip  name  the  Druse  Ring,  he 
heard  —  ah,  and  he  saw  in  a  flash  of  broad  levin 
two  witches  fighting  in  that  same  Ring ;  who 
hopped  this  way,  hopped  that  way,  bounced, 
shrieked,  crouched,  scuffled,  mewed  like  cats. 
The  shameful  sight,  which  would  have  scared  a 
plain  man  under  his  bed,  called  Blessed  Vigilas 
like  a  trumpet  to  arms.  He  went  fiercely,  directly 
into  the  Ring  with  his  hands  spread  out  like 
our  Saviour's  on  the  Cross,  and  '  Ho ! '  cries  he, 
'imps  of  dark  and  the  Devil,  I  adjure  ye  by  the 
Three  Holy  Children,  by  the  Archangels,  Angels, 
Thrones,  Dominions  and  Powers,  cease  this  hell- 
cat work ! '  The  horrid  couple  (one  kneeling  on 
the  back  of  the  other)  laughed ;  they  threw  up 
their  long  faces  to  the  sky;  they  screamed  like 


60  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

gulls  in  the  tideway:  they  laughed,  but  their  mirth 
was  bitter.  Confessing,  while  they  mocked,  the 
power  of  Christ,  they  flew  upwards  into  the  eye 
of  the  storm,  they  vanished,  the  gale  swept  them 
away.  Into  the  Druse  stalks  Blessed  Vigilas, 
greatly  exalted  and  as  if  certain  of  his  purpose ; 
upon  the  slab  of  sacrifice  (which  they  call  the 
Blood-stone)  he  finds  a  babe  asleep,  all  wrapped 
in  a  fleece  of  white  wool,  warm  and  snug  as  the 
Sacred  Child  of  Bethlehem,  Which  the  Shepherds 
saw  and  the  holy  Kings  of  Cologne.  Blessed 
Vigilas  gave  thanks,  took  the  child  in  his  arms 
and  brought  it  into  his  hermitage  of  Bleme.  It 
was  a  girl  child,  delicately  made,  new-born,  naked 
but  for  the  fleece,  and  (as  it  proved  when  awoke) 
lusty  and  as  hungry  for  meat  as  you  or  I  might 
be,  awake  at  midnight.  Holy  as  the  blessed  man 
was,  all  his  holiness  skilled  him  not  to  feed  a  babe 
unweaned.  He  made  milk  warm  in  a  pipkin,  and 
the  child  sucked  at  his  finger  like  a  little  leech : 
this  gave  him  thrills,  but  the  child  scanty  meat. 
So  as  it  nozzled  in  his  leather  frock,  and  poked 
for  the  nipple  and  found  it  not,  so  as  it  wailed, 
Blessed  Vigilas  learned  despair.  I  know  not  what 
stirring  of  numb  old  flesh  was  in  him ;  but  this 
is  true,  that  he  felt  he  would  renounce  his  hope 
of  heaven's  bliss  to  feed  this  child.  This  also  is 
true,  that  through  the  black  night  and  tail  of  the 
storm  he  fleeted  like  a  deer,  over  leagues  of  grass, 
over  hill,  over  dale,  to  Amberford-Mary,  a  four- 
league  course ;  and  ere  the  laggard  day  had  begun 
to  blink,  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  Master  Foliot's 
house,  wherein  lay  Ankeret,  that  man's  wife,  newly 
abed  of  her  first-born  son.  With  her  he  prevailed 


PAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  61 

that  she  should  foster  his  foundling  beside  her 
babe,  and  give  a  breast  to  each.  She,  a  good 
woman,  was  willing,  if  so  be  that  Vigilas  would 
christen  her  son.  So  Vigilas  christened  the  pair 
of  infants,  naming  the  boy  Peridore  like  his  father 
and  grandfather  before  him,  and  the  girl  Paravail. 
'  For  (said  the  holy  man  prophetic)  par  avail 
earnest  thou  into  the  fold,  and  par  avail  shall  thy 
soul  be  saved,  and  par  avail  thou  guard  it  for 
thyself.'  These  things  being  solemnly  done, 
Blessed  Vigilas  betook  himself  to  his  hut  by 
Bleme  Barrow,  to  his  fasting,  utter  solitude,  and 
prayer. 

"  Believe  it  or  not,  after  so  much  devotion  his 
heart  was  now  empty  of  devotion.  He  could 
not  pray  at  all  for  thinking  of  the  striving  child 
that  had  sought  to  draw  milk  from  him.  *  Alack, 
my  God,'  he  cried,  'is  all  my  thirty  years  of 
climbing  so  little  in  thy  sight  that  one  short 
hour  of  love  should  drag  me  down  ? '  But  God 
answered  him  nothing,  and  Vigilas  stayed  abashed 
and  empty.  For  a  month  of  days  he  battled  with 
his  craving,  fighting  as  not  often  even  he  had 
fought  before.  Terrible  visions  full  of  scars  and 
fire  he  had,  awake  and  asleep.  All  night  the 
witches  screamed  about  his  thatch,  or  sat  upon 
it  talking,  sniggering  shrilly  at  his  doubts.  The 
Devil  also  tempted  him  in  the  form  of  a  grey 
dog,  which  came  and  lay  panting  on  his  doorstep, 
and  snapped  at  him  whensoever  he  had  to  pass 
it.  When  he  kicked  it  one  day  it  yelped  and 
died.  He  buried  it,  but  it  came  again.  Again 
he  killed  it,  and  left  it  unburied.  It  stank.  Nor 
was  this  all ;  but  he  found  himself  forsaken.  The 


62  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

wheeling  birds  on  Cauntrip,  heretofore  his  famil- 
iars, were  now  scared  off  at  his  sight ;  the  foxes 
hid  themselves,  the  sheep  ran  blindly  from  him, 
and  stood  at  a  distance,  stamping  the  ground.  He 
wrought  no  miracles ;  cows  died  in  calf  in  spite 
of  his  prayers,  ricks  were  fired  by  night,  thieves 
and  ravishers  went  scatheless.  Vigilas  believed 
himself  cast  off  by  God,  whereas  the  truth  seems 
to  be  that  God  was  by  him  cast  off ;  yet  all  this 
made  him  but  long  more  exquisitely  for  the  child. 
At  the  end  of  a  bare  month  of  days,  unable  to 
endure  himself,  he  sped  again  over  the  downs  to 
Amberford-Mary,  and  in  spite  of  all  Mistress 
Ankeret  could  say  took  from  her  the  child  Para- 
vail  and  brought  it  to  his  hut  at  Bleme :  look  at 
that  then,  a  child  suckled  for  a  bare  month !  Yet 
he  took  it  home. 

"  There  with  prayer,  with  sweat,  with  inordi- 
nate groaning,  with  a  wooden  spoon,  he  did  in 
some  sort  rear  this  treasure  of  his ;  through  him 
or  in  spite  of  him  it  grew  in  grace  and  favour, 
healthy  and  strong  and  without  visible  speck. 
Soon  there  was  no  child  in  all  the  edges  of  the 
plain  so  fleet  and  fearless  as  this.  For,  by  reason 
that  from  her  earliest  hour  she  had  had  wide 
Cauntrip  for  a  playground,  she  became  as  one  of 
the  denizens  thereof,  ran  with  the  hares,  hid  with 
the  foxes,  played  with  them  under  the  moon. 
She  swam  like  an  otter,  lurked  with  mallards  in 
the  reedy  pools,  knew  all  the  birds  and  could  call 
them  about  her.  The  sheep  loved  her  well,  the 
sheep-dogs  did  her  no  harm :  with  all  the  soulless 
creatures  she  seemed  sib,  only  with  men  and 
women  there  was  no  commerce  for  her.  Such 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  63 

(if  by  chance  they  happened  upon  the  wild  girl) 
ran  quickly  from  her  sight ;  but  indeed  she  saw 
none  of  account,  save  Vigilas  himself,  and  him, 
as  she  grew  from  babe  to  girl,  now  she  drew 
and  now  she  drove  away.  Now  one  way,  now 
the  other,  so  it  was.  He  loved  her,  he  feared 
her;  he  hoped  of  her,  he  despaired.  You  ask 
me  of  his  inward  thought?  It  was  this,  I  think: 
She  was  his  child  par  avail.  He  who  had  ab- 
jured every  living  thing  for  his  own  soul's  sake, 
was  now  in  peril  of  renouncing  that  same  precious 
soul  for  a  thing  which  seemed  soulless  itself. 

"  For  so  she  manifestly  appeared  —  this  Para  vail 
—  as  she  grew  up  beautiful,  strong,  swift  as  a 
stag.  She  spoke,  but  (as  it  seemed)  parrot-wise, 
by  rote ;  she  repeated  what  he  taught  her,  prayed 
with  him,  lauded  God  and  the  Angels,  cursed 
Legion  and  the  fiends.  But  strive  as  he  might, 
and  he  strove  incessantly,  not  one  sign  did  she 
give  that  she  loved  God  and  hated  Legion,  that 
she  desired  the  society  of  the  Angels,  shunning 
that  of  the  fiends.  '  Either  I  nourish  a  soulless 
woman,'  said  Blessed  Vigilas  to  God,  '  or  Thou 
has  let  a  devil  come  tempting  me  in  sweet  guise.' 
So  he  fell  to  praying  all  night,  while  Paravail  lay 
calm-breathing  on  her  bed  of  brake.  No  answer 
came  down  from  Heaven.  He  saw  her  arise  in 
her  wild  beauty  with  the  first  light  of  day,  and 
flit  abroad  to  play  with  the  beasts  or  what  else 
might  lurk  secret  in  the  hollows  of  the  hills ;  and 
he  remained  at  home  to  beat  his  heart,  thus  to 
hammer  at  the  door  of  Heaven,  to  hope  against 
hope,  to  love  and  to  fear. 

"  Now,  this  was  the  way  of  life  with  the  hermit 


64  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

and  his  maid  until  she  was  a  grown  girl  of  nubile 
age,  the  most  lovely  upright  thing  in  breath.  Her 
hair  was  long  and  colour  of  a  dormouse,  her  shape 
that  of  a  gracious  woman,  her  skin  like  that  of 
the  peach  upon  the  wall  whose  hot  glow  is  dusted 
with  bloom.  Bare-headed,  bare-armed,  bare-legged 
she  went  her  heedless  ways,  clad  only  in  a  leather 
frock  after  the  fashioning  of  Blessed  Vigilas  him- 
self;  and  neither  heat  of  summer,  nor  frost,  nor 
deep  snow,  nor  terrible  tearing  wind  did  her  any 
harm  at  all,  but  instead  ripened  her,  so  that  she 
grew  golden  thereby,  and  supple,  and  satin- 
skinned,  and  straight  as  a  sapling  tree.  In  vain 
did  Vigilas  call  her  before  him  night  and  morn- 
ing, and  make  her  stand  with  her  hands  behind 
her  back  while  he  told  over  her  parts  and  the  evil 
nature  thereof.  In  vain  did  he  touch  her  chest, 
saying,  'This  deep  case  hideth  a  heart  black  as 
all  women's  hearts  must  be,  and  rotten ; '  or  again 
her  two  bright  eyes,  saying,  '  These  dark  pools 
see  nothing  but  evil  and  reflect  nothing  but  evil 
again:  so  evil  looketh  on  evil  and,  believing  it 
good,  is  horribly  deceived ; '  or  her  red  mouth, 
with  the  words, '  Hence  proceed  leasing,  and  prov- 
ocation to  evil-doing,  and  slander,  and  backbit- 
ing, and  words  of  malice  and  all  guile.'  In  vain, 
I  say,  in  vain !  She  repeated  the  words,  she 
seemed  meek,  soothfast,  chastened,  obedient;  but 
the  words  once  rehearsed,  she  was  off  and  away, 
and  he  saw  nothing  more  of  her  until  she  was 
hungry  or  wishful  to  sleep. 

"  Going  thus,  growing  thus,  out  of  all  control  of 
old  Vigilas,  though  never  out  of  his  fierce  heart, 
she  was  espied  one  day  by  her  fosterling  of  a  month, 


DAN  COSTARD'S  TALE  65 

young  Peridore  Foliot,  a  dark-hued  lad,  as  he  lay 
keeping  sheep  upon  the  plain ;  and  he,  who  had 
never  seen  her,  but  often  heard  other  shepherds 
report  concerning  her  wild  ways,  wooed  her  with 
his  pipe  to  draw  near,  and  so  (even  as  she  herself 
could  charm  a  starting  bird)  drew  her  in  and  in, 
till  at  last  she  came  and  sat  beside  him,  and 
touched  his  garments  and  his  hair,  and  wondered 
over  him  and  smelt  at  him ;  and  so,  looking  deeply 
into  his  eyes,  let  him  put  hands  upon  her  and  take 
her  by  the  chin,  and  kiss  her  cheeks  and  mouth. 
Whereupon,  as  at  a  first  draught  of  new  wine,  she 
fell  at  once  to  love  him  out  of  measure,  and  did 
love.  This  was  the  beginning  also  of  manhood 
for  Peridore,  a  tall  lad,  first  born  of  honest  people, 
a  good  boy  and  a  pious ;  for  (as  you  know  better 
than  I)  manhood  beginneth  by  self-knowledge,  and 
self-knowledge  came  by  sin.  I  think  Peridore  did 
no  piety  here,  to  meet  this  elfin  thing  in  secret 
and  stray  with  her  upon  the  windy  downs :  better 
to  have  kept  the  sheep,  with  his  pipe  in  his  bosom. 
Withal,  what  he  did  was  no  great  affair  to  hurt 
her.  His  honesty  saved  hers  from  disaster.  In 
all  innocence  (as  being  soulless)  she  would  have 
suffered  what  in  the  heat  of  youth  he  might  have 
done ;  but  unless  it  be  a  wrong  to  love  that  which 
hath  little  wit,  he  wronged  her  not. 

"  Paravail  got  a  new  master,  as  you  see,  with 
softer  lessons  and  a  softer  mouth ;  but  she  learned 
little  more.  '  Repeat  with  me,  dear  Paravail,  what 
I  shall  rehearse,'  saith  Peridore  to  her.  '  God 
I  fear,  Christ  I  glorify,  to  Mary's  knees  I  cling, 
to  the  Saints  I  lift  up  my  voice.'  She  said  all 
the  words  after  him,  dully  at  first,  but  brighten- 


66  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

ing  towards  the  close,  for  she  knew  what  was 
coming  then.  '  Say  now,  Paravail  — '  he  began ; 
and  she  stopped  him  there  and  said  the  words 
herself  —  '  I  love,  I  love,  I  love  Peridore  '  —  and 
put  up  a  kindling  face  to  be  kissed.  And  he  always 
kissed  her  fondly,  believing  what  she  had  said. 
Perfect  love,  however,  should  be  perfect  under- 
standing ;  but  when  Peridore  expounded  what  he 
knew  of  duty,  of  his  parents,  of  his  faith  as  a 
Christian,  she  pouted,  sulked,  or  ran  away,  and 
must  be  coaxed  back  by  the  pipe  and  held  by 
endearments  to  his  side.  The  pipe's  music  was 
magic  to  her;  by  that  Peridore  had  tamed  her  at 
first,  through  that  he  had  her  at  his  call  by  night 
or  by  day. 

"  It  was  long  before  Blessed  Vigilas  found  out 
what  had  wrought  a  great  change  in  Paravail.  He 
saw  her  ill  at  ease,  cowed,  dull,  timorous  before 
him ;  he  saw  her  all  quivering  to  be  away  to  the 
open,  wakeful,  starting,  full  of  dreams  at  nights. 
When  he  questioned  her  she  evaded  him,  when 
he  reproved  her  she  wept.  He  believed  her  to  tell 
lies ;  some  strange  thing  (he  knew  very  well)  had 
taught  her  to  be  shifty.  Not  as  yet  did  he  suspect 
the  Devil,  least  of  all  a  lover ;  but  rather  he  judged 
that  the  rooted  old  wickedness  of  women  was 
sending  up  a  flowering  shoot  in  this  young  flesh. 
1  Alas,  she  hath  a  soul  then,'  he  reasoned,  '  and  it 
is  full  of  the  maggots  of  sin.  Whereas  before  she 
did  not  understand,  now  she  understands  too  well. 
What  shall  I  do,  that  have  devoted  fifteen  years  of 
life  to  the  care  of  a  wicked  woman  ? '  Observe, 
that  while  he  yet  deceived  himself  he  could  no 
longer  deceive  the  girl.  She,  by  the  new  light 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  67 

she  had,  read  him  through  and  feared  him  the 
more ;  he,  with  all  his  strong  flame,  could  read 
less  than  at  first.  Now  then,  one  night  as  he 
knelt  at  his  holy  exercise  (thinking  to  deceive  his 
God  as  he  deceived  himself),  while  she  lay  abed, 
he  heard  the  notes  of  a  shepherd's  pipe  without, 
played  low.  He  saw  Paravail  start,  knew  that 
she  listened ;  as  the  music  went  on  —  a  secret, 
plaining  air  —  he  perceived  that  she  trembled 
and  turned  about,  that  she  was  broad  awake,  in 
a  fever  to  be  out,  pretending  to  be  asleep  all  the 
while.  So  Love  which  had  made  her  full  of  wiles, 
filled  him  also  with  wiles.  Vigilas  went  out  of 
the  hut,  hid  himself  in  the  Druse  Ring.  Peering 
thence  between  the  great  heeling  stones,  he  saw 
young  Paravail,  slim  and  fair  in  a  full  bath  of  the 
moon's  light,  flit  out  of  the  hut,  standing  tiptoe  to 
look  about  her,  then  flash  like  a  swallow  to  where 
the  music  called  her.  Down  the  lit  acres  he  saw 
her  go:  himself,  lightfooted  as  a  stag,  coursed 
after.  He  saw  her  top  a  ridge  of  grass  bleached 
white  by  the  moon ;  he  watched  her  flying  down 
the  slopes  beyond :  desperate,  he  followed.  He 
lost  her  by  a  little  grove  of  trees,  in  a  bottom 
where  there  was  a  brook,  and  fern  grew  rank,  with 
foxgloves  intermixed.  But  over  the  brook  the 
trees  stood  clustered  on  dry  sandy  ground,  and 
there  he  saw  her  again  —  and  one  with  her.  He 
saw  a  tall  smocked  shepherd  stand  alone :  thither 
also  came  Paravail  with  a  quick  glad  cry,  who 
threw  herself  upon  his  breast,  and  touched  his  face 
with  tender  hands.  Lying  deep  in  the  brake,  he 
saw  much  more  than  this,  and  what  evil  was  not 
done  his  evil  thoughts  conceived :  though  it  had 


68  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

been  pitchy  dark  his  eyes  would  have  burned  a 
path  through  the  night.  Love  had  him  gripped 
by  the  shoulders ;  love  had  his  heart  in  both 
hands  and  was  gnawing  it  with  strong  teeth. 
Blessed  Vigilas,  man  of  God,  forty  years'  hermit 
on  Cauntrip,  teacher  of  all  the  country,  was  him- 
self in  school.  Blessed  Vigilas  was  lover  of  young 
Paravail,  the  more  desperate  in  that  his  days  were 
many,  the  more  consumed  with  desire  in  that  de- 
sire had  been  so  long  forbid.  Jealousy,  love's 
naughty  friend,  now  lifted  up  a  head;  jealousy, 
which  makes  a  man  see  his  own  wickedness  in 
what  he  wickedly  loves,  and  wreck  the  thing  that 
he  longs  for,  lest  another  should  dare  to  possess  it. 

"  What  did  Vigilas  ?  He  ran  away  at  first. 
Lying  upon  his  face  alone  on  the  down,  his  soul 
became  a  battle-acre  for  angels  and  fiends. 

"  '  She  is  mine,  mine,  mine ! ' 

" '  Nay,  sinner,  but  all  are  Mine! 

" '  Shall  I  not  save  this  poor  child,  whom  once 
I  saved  before  ? ' 

"'Nay,  sinner,  save  thyself! 

" '  It  is  lawful  for  me  to  wed,  O  my  God.' 

" '  Out  on  thee,  wretch,  what  hast  thou  to  do  with 
a  wife  ? ' 

" '  By  my  soul,  O   Lord,   I  will  never  let  her 

go!' 

" '  How  wilt  thou  save  her  and  thyself  too  ? 
Choose! 

" '  What  if  I  know  myself  strong  enough  to  do 
it?' 

" '  What  strength  is  in  thee  now,  fond  wretch  ? ' 

"  *  If  she  tempteth  me,  Lord,  so  sorely,  it  is 
because  she  hath  a  devil.' 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  69 

" '  What  then,  Vigilas,  My  son  ? ' 

"  *  Lord,  by  thy  grace  I  have  been  strong.' 

" '  Tempt  Me  not,  Vigilas,  My  son* 

" '  Lord,  I  shall  take  her  back  to  Bleme  and 
exorcise  this  devil  that  she  hath.  For  look  Thou, 
Lord,  if  she  hath  a  devil  she  will  involve  this  poor 
silly  shepherd  in  her  flame  of  fire.' 

"  *  See  to  it,  Vigilas,  that  she  involve  not  thee! 

"  '  She  is  mine !  I  saved  her  from  the  witches. 
She  hath  been  my  light  and  joy  these  many  years. 
And  shall  another  take  her  now  ? ' 

" '  Alas  for  thee,  Vigilas! 

" '  I  take  her,  Lord.  I  save  her  from  this 
death.' 

" '  Thou  art  to  choose! 

"'O  Christ,  I  love  her!' 

" '  Is  this  thy  choice  ? ' 

"  Vigilas  got  up  and  faced  the  great  night. 
The  moon  had  gone  in :  it  wanted  two  hours  of 
dawn. 

" '  I  choose,'  he  said  to  God  in  the  dark.  '  The 
soul  I  saved  shall  be  saved  still.  If  she  is  a  devil 
I  will  fight  with  her.  If  a  devil  hath  in  her  his 
seat  I  will  drive  him  out.  I  know  very  well  that 
she  tempteth  me  to  sin ;  but  that  is  my  opportunity 
delivered  from  of  old.  O  my  God,  great  and  mar- 
vellous things  have  I  wrought  this  forty  year  five : 
now  I  will  do  a  greater  than  all  when  I  take  home 
with  me  this  lovely  fiend  ;  and  look  and  long,  but 
curse  her ;  and  love,  but  chastise ;  and  fear,  but 
dare  her  do  me  harm.  Now,  O  God,  Thou  shalt 
be  content  with  Thy  servant.  Is  it  not  so? 
Answer  me.'  But  God  answered  him  nothing; 
but  all  the  muffled  hills  and  all  the  stars  stood 


70  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

motionless  in  their  places.  Blessed  Vigilas  strode 
again  over  the  grass  to  the  brook  in  the  valley, 
gathering  blindness  and  rage  as  he  went.  By  the 
grey  dawn  light  he  saw  Peridore  and  Paravail 
asleep,  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  her  face 
thrown  up  towards  his  so  that  her  lips  brushed 
his  cheek.  They  had  done  no  harm,  but  inno- 
cently, after  their  gentle  kind  :  yet  he,  being  filled 
with  insane  rage,  saw  wickedness  ruining  their 
faces,  and  devils  everywhere,  writhing  and  knot- 
ting in  that  place. 

"  The  noise  of  his  fierce  feet  breaking  through 
the  fern  woke  Paravail,  who  went  all  cold  and 
began  to  shake,  clinging  to  Peridore.  Then  he 
also  awoke,  jumped  up  and  stood  before  old 
Vigilas.  '  Blessed  sir,'  says  he,  '  if  it  please  you 
to  hear  it,  I  have  found  again  Paravail,  my  foster- 
ling for  a  month,  and  now  would  ask  her  of  you 
for  my  dear  wife.'  '  Down,  hound,'  roared  Vigilas, 
'lest  I  strike  thee  down.'  He  took  Paravail  by 
the  wrist  and  pulled  her  up,  and  cuffed  her  three 
times  on  the  head.  As  she  flinched  and  cowered 
sideways  to  avoid  him,  '  The  fiend  in  thee  is  wide 
awake,  I  see,'  he  says,  '  but  I  will  drive  him  out. 
Thou  spreadest  thy  nets  very  wide,  but  I  will  slit 
them  in  pieces.  I  will  save  thy  soul  in  spite  of 
Legion  and  all  his  company.  Come  in,  come  in, 
thou  abhorred,  and  do  thy  worst  with  me.'  So 
he  haled  her  away,  breathing  hard  through  his 
close  nostrils ;  and  Peridore  followed  after,  anx- 
ious, miserable,  horribly  afraid  of  Vigilas,  but 
bound  by  the  same  cords  about  his  neck  to  go 
where  Paravail  should  draw  him.  See  all  three 
wretches  in  a  concatenation:  Vigilas  roped  to 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  71 

Love,  Paravail  snatched  by  Vigilas,  Peridore  in 
Para  vail 's  net.  Deplorable  state  of  affairs !  " 

"  Improbus  ille  puer ;  crude  Us  tu  quoque  mater? 
quoth  the  Scrivener  at  this  point:  but  Percival 
would  not  let  go  Mawdleyn's  hand. 

Dan  Costard  resumed:  — 

"  Vigilas  dragged  Paravail  back  to  Bleme  and 
shut  the  door  upon  her  and  himself.  Peridore 
sat  down  against  the  wall,  his  chin  upon  his  bare 
knees,  and  so  stayed.  There  reigned  an  enor- 
mous weight  of  silence  over  the  plain :  the  dawn 
came  unheralded  by  cry  of  bird ;  within  the  hut 
was  silence  absolute.  At  noon  Vigilas  came  out 
to  pray  as  his  custom  was,  to  pray  and  scourge 
himself.  This  day,  as  he  plied  the  goad  with 
more  frenzy  than  his  wont,  Peridore  cried  out  for 
mercy.  '  Ah,  have  mercy,  have  mercy,  Vigilas ! 
Have  mercy  on  thyself  —  and  on  all  of  us!'  was 
his  plea ;  but  Vigilas  shook  the  blood  off  his  face 
and  hair  to  look  at  him,  and  then  said,  *  Thus  I 
score  deep  the  proud  flesh  which  is  my  gaol.' 
Little  enough  flesh  was  there,  God  wot;  yet  he 
cut  it  to  furrows.  Now,  the  door  of  the  hut  was 
ajar,  and  Peridore  peered  into  the  dark  entry, 
hoping  to  see  Paravail  crouching  there.  But  he 
saw  nothing.  Presently  Vigilas  gave  over  his 
discipline,  and  went  down  to  the  well  for  water, 
but  before  he  went  shut  the  door  and  rolled  a 
great  stone  in  front  of  it.  No  sooner  is  he  round 
the  house  than  Peridore  is  at  the  door,  tapping, 
scratching,  calling  '  Paravail,  Paravail,  Paravail, 
my  love ! '  Her  voice,  very  small  and  far  off,  begs 
him  go  away  and  never  see  her  again.  Peridore 
laughs  in  his  misery,  putting  up  his  face  like  a 


72  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

dog,  that  howls  at  the  light.  Back  comes  Vigilas 
with  a  bucket  of  water  and  finds  Peridore  with 
his  mouth  at  the  bobbin  of  the  latch.  He  gives 
a  short  cry,  drops  the  bucket.  '  Prying  dog ! '  he 
snarls  (like  a  beast);  he  catches  the  lad  by  the 
scruff  of  his  neck  and  hurls  him  with  fury  to  the 
ground.  '  Ah,  night-thief,  beware  of  me ! '  Peri- 
dore crawled  away,  ashamed  and  hurt,  and  lay  at 
a  distance  looking  at  Vigilas  his  enemy ;  but  so 
soon  as  the  hermit  was  within  doors,  back  he 
crept  to  his  post  by  the  door.  As  for  Vigilas, 
mindful  of  the  grey  dog  of  old,  which  was  the 
Devil  in  a  mean  shape,  he  was  sure  that  he  should 
see  Peridore  again. 

"  Now  began  Blessed  Vigilas  to  cry  upon  the 
fiend  to  come  out  of  Paravail,  with  a  roaring  sound 
as  of  a  mighty  wind,  most  terrible  to  hear.  Peri- 
dore, pressed  to  the  door,  grew  cold  to  the  marrow 
as  he  listened.  Yet  not  so  much  the  dread  cry- 
ing of  Vigilas  terrified  him  as  the  silence  of  the 
girl :  not  a  sound  came  forth  to  tell  him  news  of 
her,  what  she  suffered  or  what  could  not  suffer. 
Yea,  although  there  were  horrific  pauses  in  the 
stream  of  cursing,  minutes  of  time  when  all  na- 
ture seemed  athrob  with  the  reverberations  of  the 
burthen  of  reproach,  not  once  could  he  catch  a 
whimper,  a  moan,  a  little  gasp  of  catching  breath, 
to  tell  him  that  Paravail  lived  or  warn  him  that 
she  was  about  to  die.  To  his  mind  she  was  so 
tender  and  fragile  a  thing  that  (thought  he)  one 
blast  of  the  trumpet  of  Vigilas  must  scare  soul 
from  body :  had  she  then  died  at  once  ?  Did  the 
great  minatory  voice  do  no  more  now  than  chase 
a  flickering  ghost  about  the  hut,  from  corner  to 


DAN  COSTARD'S  TALE  73 

corner  thereof  ?  Peridore  could  bear  it  no  longer, 
but  threw  himself  at  the  door,  battering  with  his 
hands  and  feet,  scrambling,  padding  against  it  like 
a  cat  at  the  walls  of  a  well,  crying,  '  O  Vigilas, 
give  over !  Spare  her,  spare  her !  O  Vigilas,  for 
the  dear  love  of  God ! '  He  spent  and  maddened 
himself  in  vain ;  at  last  fell  in  a  heap  by  the  door, 
and  lay  still,  as  one  dead. 

"  When  he  awoke  it  was  night,  with  a  full  moon. 
There  was  Vigilas  outside  the  hut  again,  digging 
a  pit.  Peridore  sat  up  and  watched  him :  by  and 
by  it  comes  into  his  mind  that  this  is  the  grave  of 
Paravail  which  he  digs.  But  he  dares  do  no  more 
than  watch.  Presently  then,  the  pit  being  as  deep 
as  the  knees  of  Vigilas,  he  says,  '  Oh,  Vigilas,  she 
is  but  a  little  creature.  No  need  to  bury  her 
so  deep.  For  what  unfriendly  thing  would  dig 
her  up  again  ?  She  is  friend  with  all  creatures 
living  save  thee.  Not  so  deep,  Vigilas,  not  so 
deep.' 

" '  You  fool,'  says  Vigilas,  pausing  with  his 
pick  in  the  ground.  '  I  dig  this  pit  for  myself. 
Come  and  help  me.' 

" '  Most  willingly,'  says  Peridore,  and  took  the 
pick. 

"  When  the  pit  was  up  to  Vigilas  his  neck,  the 
hermit  says,  *  Now  help  me  fetch  water.'  So  they 
went  with  buckets  to  the  well,  and  soon  had  it 
brimful  of  water.  Then  Vigilas,  casting  off  his 
leather  frock,  stood  up  meagre  and  naked,  covered 
with  scars  and  matted  hair,  the  edges  of  his  great 
ribs  as  sharp  under  the  skin  as  the  edges  of  knives. 
'  What  now,  O  Vigilas  ? '  says  Peridore,  in  a 
quake  of  fear.  For  answer  Vigilas  lifted  high  his 


74  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

arms  and  leaped  into  the  pit.  '  Thus,  my  son,' 
says  he,  gasping  (for  it  was  icy  cold  water),  '  I  do 
freeze  the  flesh  out  of  me.' 

" '  Alack,'  says  Peridore,  '  is  the  flesh  yet  so 
strong  in  thee,  my  father  ? ' 

"Vigilas  said,  'That  she-devil  in  the  house 
tempteth  me  most  horribly.'  Peridore  began  to 
cry  and  wring  his  hands.  '  Ah,  ah,  how  can  you 
think  it  ?  She  is  no  devil,  but  pure  innocence  all 
through.  Oh,  sir,  oh,  blessed  man,  let  her  go, 
let  me  have  her.  She  is  more  dear  to  me  than 
life  itself.  I  must  die  without  her ! ' 

" '  I  assure  you,'  said  Vigilas,  whose  teeth  rattled 
together  with  cold,  '  that  you  could  not  die  better. 
She  is  plainly  accursed,  of  the  spawning  of  the 
fiend.  I  see  it  all  now.'  But  Peridore,  full  to 
overflow  with  misery,  could  not  cease  whining 
his  prayers  for  Paravail ;  and  the  hermit,  having 
soused  himself  sodden,  got  out  of  the  pit,  shook 
the  wet  off,  and  went  into  his  house.  There  he 
began  again  to  roar,  thunder,  and  exorcise  the 
devil  in  Paravail,  until  the  whole  of  Cauntrip 
shuddered  at  the  noise  of  his  rough  music. 

"  Towards  morning  this  terrible  clamour  ceased ; 
silence  wrapped  the  world  of  grass ;  and  on  Peri- 
dore too  fell  silence  and  a  heavy  swooning  sleep. 
Out  of  this  he  awoke  to  the  sound  of  wicked  voices 
chuckling  and  sniggering  above  him.  Looking  up, 
he  saw  two  witches  on  the  ridge  of  the  roof ;  who 
sat  astride  it  face  to  face,  and  obscenely  fondled 
each  other.  Peridore  made  the  cross  upon  him- 
self and  watched  them  sideways. 

"Says  one,  cupping  the  other's  chin, '  Fly,  Tibby, 
fly!'  But  that  other,  'Nay,  but  wait  till  old 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  75 

Sanctity  hath  made  an  end  of  Paravail,  and  mark 
where  he  lays  her  in  earth.' 

" '  Hue ! '  said  the  first,  '  What  good  shall  she 
be  to  us  ?  The  lass  is  without  a  soul  —  as  yet, 
as  yet ! ' 

"  Tib  replies,  '  You  have  the  right  of  it.  She 
was  only  suckled  for  a  month  — and  that's  no  time 
at  all.  I  fought  Jean  Proudfute  for  her  in  a  storm 
fifteen  years  agone.  Then  slipped  in  this  old  goat 
and  had  her  suckled  by  a  wife.  But  Legion  stirred 
him  to  snatch  her  away  in  a  month ;  and  the  sprout 
of  soul  shrivelled.  Hue !  we  shall  have  her  yet.' 

"  They  both  laughed  together  horribly,  with  a 
sound  like  that  of  hoarse  sea-mews.  '  This  old 
enemy  of  ours  hath  undone  himself.  He  is  over- 
reached. We  have  him  fast ! ' 

" '  Wait  you.  Wait  you  a  little ;  she  lives  yet,' 
said  the  first ;  and  the  second,  '  We  will  wait  for 
the  night.  Come,  come ! ' 

"  They  stretched  their  heads  up  into  the  sky, 
and  nosed  all  about  for  the  wind,  as  cormorants 
do  from  their  wet  rocks  in  the  sea.  The  sun's 
rays  began  to  stream  out  from  behind  the  hills. 
'  Time  is,'  says  the  first ;  '  Kiss  me,  Tib,'  the  sec- 
ond :  then  '  I  fly  with  you.'  So  they  kissed  and 
rose  together  and  flew  screaming  off,  away  from 
the  sun ;  and  when  they  were  clear  of  the  Druse 
Ring  they  flew  low  over  the  ground,  like  owls. 

"  Peridore  tapped  at  the  door  of  the  hut,  need- 
ing even  the  company  of  the  hermit.  '  Who  is 
there,  in  the  name  of  God  ? '  came  muttering  the 
voice  of  Vigilas.  '  It  is  I,  Peridore,  in  the  name 
of  God,'  says  the  young  man.  Presently  Vigilas 
came  blinking  out. 


76  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"'Oh,  Vigilas!  oh,  Vigilas ! '  says  Peridore  on 
his  knees,  '  Give  me  news  of  Paravail.' 

" '  What  is  she  to  thee,  fool  ? ' 

" '  There  have  been  here  two  witches  astride 
thy  thatch,'  says  Peridore,  '  who  report  that  she 
will  die  to-night.' 

'"She  shall  be  saved  this  night,  by  my  old 
head ! '  cried  the  hermit,  lifting  up  his  hands  to 
Heaven.  Then  Peridore  said,  '  Here  is  the  sec- 
ond morning  since  I  have  eaten.  Give  me  food, 
sir,  or  I  also  must  die.' 

"  Vigilas  asked  him,  '  Why,  what  is  thy  life  or 
death  to  me  ? '  and  Peridore  had  no  answer  to 
that.  Nevertheless  Vigilas,  when  he  had  said 
his  prayers,  standing  rigid  in  his  water-pit,  gave 
him  a  hunch  of  bread.  They  sat  together  in  the 
sun,  eating. 

" '  The  witches,  sir,'  says  Peridore,  *  report  of 
Paravail  that  she  hath  no  soul,  by  reason  of  her 
short  suckling  at  my  mother's  breast.  How  then 
can  she  be  damned  ? ' 

"  Vigilas  replied,  '  But  I  know  that  she  hath  a 
soul,  and  a  black  soul,  into  which  the  devil  hath 
entered  to  possess  it.  For  sure  I  am  that  none 
other  but  a  devil  could  have  tempted  me  so 
sorely.' 

" '  But,  sir,'  says  Peridore,  '  how  if  the  devil 
should  have  dared  enter  into  thee  ? '  Vigilas 
stared  at  him. 

" '  How  can  that  be  ? '  saith  he. 

"  Peridore  says,  '  I  am  a  silly,  unlearned  shep- 
herd, little  aware  of  the  ways  of  holy  men  of  God : 
yet  I  seem  to  have  heard  say  that  such  have  been 
tempted  before  now  by  snares  set  within.  So  I 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  77 

say  that  the  evil  we  think  to  find  in  the  world 
may  be  of  our  own  devising,  as  it  were.  For  when 
I  eat  too  freely  and  overload  my  belly,  I  see  the 
green  grass  as  dust,  and  blotches  in  the  sweet 
air.  So  may  it  be  with  other  lusts.' 

" '  Fool,'  saith  Vigilas,  '  you  speak  as  a  fool,  of 
your  body,  but  I  of  spiritual  matters  wherein  only 
I  am  learned.  What  hath'  the  belly  to  do  with 
the  soul  ? ' 

" '  Why,  much,'  says  Peridore,  '  since  the  soul 
resides  in  the  body.' 

" '  I  cannot  hear  thee,  I  cannot  hear  thee ! ' 
cries  Vigilas,  perturbed.  *  I  hear  nothing  but  the 
snorting  of  fiends.  Off,  black  thief !  I  defy  thy 
name ! '  And  he  went  back  fighting  his  way 
through  the  air,  and  ceased  not  all  that  day  to 
cry  out  and  protest  against  the  devil  in  Paravail. 
Peridore  sat  listening  to  him,  with  crisped  hands 
and  a  heart  like  water,  until  about  the  going  down 
of  the  sun,  when  the  sound  suddenly  stopped. 

"At  this  time  Vigilas  came  out  in  a  shivery 
shake,  with  his  jaw  dropped  (so  that  his  mouth 
was  open  and  awry),  his  eyes  as  pale  as  skim-milk, 
all  quick  with  fright.  He  tried  to  speak  but 
could  not ;  this  gave  Peridore  an  access  of  terror 
so  sudden  that  he  too  was  choked  in  the  throat. 
There  then  stood  the  pair  of  them,  the  old  man 
and  the  young,  white  and  shaking,  voiceless,  eye- 
ing each  other.  Blessed  Vigilas  had  in  one  hand 
a  pick,  in  the  other  a  shovel.  These,  when  Peri- 
dore saw  them,  forced  words  out  of  him. 

"  '  Oh,  Vigilas,'  he  said  —  and  his  voice  was  as 
the  voice  of  one  who  taps  his  throat  — '  will  you 
make  deeper  your  pit  ? ' 


78  NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  Blessed  Vigilas  said,  croaking,  '  Quick,  dig  a 
grave,  dig  a  grave.'  Peridore  howled. 

"  '  Paravail's  grave  —  oh,  oh  !     Not  so,  Vigilas  ? ' 

" '  Paravail's  grave,'  said  the  hermit.  '  Let  us 
bury  her  deep.' 

"  The  heart  of  Peridore  stood  quite  still.  He 
felt  the  blood  ebb  from  his  hands  and  feet  and 
leave  him  dry,  as  when  a  great  suck  of  the  falling 
tide  drains  all  the  sandy  pools  on  a  beach.  But 
all  this  blood  surged  into  his  head,  and  as  his 
brain  reeled  there  eddied  into  the  vortex  a  little 
seed  of  rage,  which  spread  and  grew  till  it  pos- 
sessed him  utterly,  and  showed  him  Vigilas,  and 
the  ground  beneath  him,  the  sky,  the  rocks  and 
all  the  plain  one  smouldering  sea.  Vigilas,  look- 
ing stupidly  at  the  work  on  hand,  says  in  his 
throat,  '  Help  me  dig  the  grave.' 

" '  That  I  will  do,'  says  Peridore. 

" '  You  are  young,'  says  Vigilas,  '  and  I  am  old 
and  very  weary.  Do  you  take  the  pick.'  Peri- 
dore shook  at  the  knees. 

"  '  No,  no,  no !  keep  the  pick.  I  will  not  have 
it,'  says  he,  quite  white. 

" '  You  shall  do  as  I  bid  you,'  said  Vigilas,  not 
used  to  being  gainsaid ;  so  he  threw  down  the 
pick.  Peridore  took  it  up.  They  set  to  work. 
Peridore  picked  up  the  ground  to  half  a  foot  or  a 
foot-depth,  then  gave  over  while  Vigilas  shovelled 
out  the  loose  earth,  talking  to  himself  as  he 
wrought.  '  Long  before  she  came  the  devil 
tempted  me '  —  thus  he  rambled  on  —  'in  the 
shape  of  a  grey  cur,  which  lay  panting  at  my  door 
and  snapped  at  me  as  I  went  in  and  out.  When 
I  kicked  the  beast  it  yelped  a  little  and  died.  I 


DAN  COSTARD'S  TALE  79 

buried  it,  but  it  came  again.  I  kicked  again  and 
it  died  again.  I  left  it  unburied,  and  it  stank. 
Many  weeks  this  torment  endured.  Now  if  I 
bury  Paravail  deep,  I  know  very  well  she  will 
come  back,  and  all  our  labour  be  in  vain.  But  I 
choose  rather  to  bury  than  to  leave  her,  because 
of  the  lovely  semblance  she  hath.  Could  I  endure 
to  see  her  fretted  by  worms  ?  O  Christ,  my  King 
and  Lord  ! '  He  jumped  out  of  the  pit,  distraught 
by  his  fancies,  and  said  fiercely  to  Peridore  who 
was  watching  him,  '  Pick  up  more  earth.  It  is 
not  near  deep  enough.'  Peridore  shut  his  eyes, 
to  hide  if  he  could  the  glare  of  blood,  and  picked 
up  another  foot-depth.  In  his  turn  Vigilas  set  to 
shovelling  again.  '  She  is  a  very  little  person,' 
says  he,  muttering  and  complaining  over  his  work, 
'  whose  middle  my  two  hands  could  span.  Yet 
she  should  lie  all  the  deeper  for  that.'  He  was 
so  hoarse  that  he  could  scarcely  speak ;  his  breath 
came  short,  like  a  dog's.  Now,  Peridore  felt  the 
veins  in  his  neck  swell,  and  knew  that  he  could 
not  much  longer  command  his  rage.  So  when 
Blessed  Vigilas  began  again,  saying,  '  Who  would 
have  thought  that  so  much  evil  could  dwell  in  so 
slight  a  body  ? '  Peridore  stopped  his  labour,  and 
cried  out  hotly,  '  Enough.  It  were  better  thou 
saidst  no  more.' 

'"How  so?'   says  Vigilas,  ruminating   with  a 
foot  on  his  spade's  shoulder. 

"'I  cannot  tell  thee,'  says  Peridore,  'but  it  is  true.' 
"  But  Vigilas  could  not  be  silent.     After  a  while 
he   began  to   mutter  again,  saying,  '  This  is  the 
sorest  trial  vouchsafed  me  yet  by  God's  unspeak- 
able favour.' 


8o  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  '  Beware,  Vigilas,'  says  Peridore. 

"  *  Ah,'  quoth  he,  '  and  I  have  been  wary.  Fif- 
teen year  tempted  !  First  by  a  sucking  child,  and 
then  by  a  pretty  imp  that  played  at  my  knee ;  and 
then  by  a  sobering  maid  that  must  needs  rise  up 
and  go  to  bed  in  the  dark ;  and  then  by  a  slip  of 
dangerous  grace,  that  would  coil  herself  about  the 
heart  of  God's  chosen  servant  and  strangle  him — 
alas !  alas  ! '  cries  Vigilas  with  a  clear  call  of  an- 
guish, '  What  have  I  done,  O  God  ? ' 

" '  Murder,  thou  red  thief ! '  says  Peridore  deeply, 
and  drove  at  him  with  the  pick. 

"  As  he  struck,  having  a  sudden  compunction, 
he  turned  the  haft  in  his  hand,  so  hit  old  Vigilas 
with  the  flat  of  the  pick.  Even  so,  notwithstand- 
ing, he  knocked  him  senseless,  that  he  lay  without 
stir,  huddled  up  in  the  pit  he  had  been  digging  for 
Paravail.  Peridore  ran  over  him  into  the  hut  and 
saw  his  love  in  a  shroud,  laid  out  east  and  west 
upon  the  floor,  on  her  breast  a  wooden  cross,  can- 
dles burning  at  her  head  and  feet.  He  picked  her 
up  in  his  arms  as  she  was,  throwing  down  the 
candles;  he  turned  out  of  the  hut,  leaped  over 
Vigilas  (who  still  lay  where  he  had  been  felled), 
and  ran  like  a  hunted  hare  westward  over  the 
downs.  Fear  fixed  his  eyes,  fear  drove  him  so 
fast  that  he  never  once  looked  behind  him  to  see, 
as  he  must  have  seen,  fire  catch  the  hermit's  hut 
of  Bleme  and  writhe  towards  heaven.  Love 
fleeted  beside  him,  despair  drove  him  forward ; 
but  overhead  he  knew  he  had  fearful  company. 
He  heard  wings  beating,  caught  hissed  words, 
wicked  voices  now  and  again.  He  stayed  not,  he 
turned  not  his  face  away  from  the  west,  but  ran 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  81 

on  and  on,  many  a  mile,  many  a  league,  over  hill, 
over  dale,  through  marish  and  standing  pool,  by 
the  side  of  woods,  deep  in  bracken  and  tangle; 
choosing  wherever  he  could  the  bosky  hollows ; 
keeping  his  face  steady,  breathing  through  his 
nose;  husbanding  all  the  strength  he  had  —  and 
that  was  much.  But  the  wings  above  him  never 
ceased  their  pulsing  flight,  the  voices  grew  bolder 
as  the  darkness  gathered. 

"  He  knew  they  were  witches.  '  Chase,  chase ! ' 
says  one :  another,  *  He  hath  the  soulless  child  ! ' 
'  Vigilas,  our  old  enemy,  is  dead ! '  screamed  the 
first :  '  Peridore  too  shall  die,'  the  second.  Anon 
a  third  met  them  in  mid-air,  crying,  '  Head  him 
off,  head  him  off!  He  must  never  find  the  Holy 
Mount ! '  At  her  the  two  others  mocked  as  they 
swept  on :  '  What  if  he  do  then  ?  Paravail  is  dead. 
He  carries  a  corpse.  We  follow  to  get  it.'  '  What 
will  you  make  of  her? '  '  Candles,  candles !  Fol- 
low.' So  then  three  chased  him  instead  of  two, 
and  tried  to  baffle  him  with  their  flaggy  wings ;  and 
as  he  flinched,  his  heart  was  near  breaking,  as  his 
back  was  near.  He  had  no  feeling  in  the  arms 
which  bore  up  Paravail.  One  was  fixed  in  the 
breast  of  his  smock,  the  other  wound  into  the  first. 
He  could  not  drop  her  if  he  would,  dared  not  stay 
for  breath  lest  he  should  stay  altogether ;  but  his 
forces  were  at  an  end :  near  the  edge  of  Cauntrip 
Plain  he  stumbled  over  a  rabbit-bury,  dropped, 
could  not  get  up,  lay  heaped  on  Paravail's  body 
like  a  shot  bird.  '  They  shall  rip  me  to  pieces  to 
get  her,'  was  the  last  thought  he  had.  With  shrill 
screams  the  witches  raced  on,  for  by  now  it  was 
densely  dark.  So  they  out-rode  and  over-rode 


82  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

him  where  he  lay  in  deep  sleep,  crouched  upon 
the  form  of  Paravail.  I  know  not  how  far  he  may 
have  travelled,  being  little  acquainted  with  his 
country  —  many  miles  from  Bleme  and  his  own 
abiding-place  it  must  have  been,  near  the  limits 
of  the  plain. 

"  The  sun  was  high  in  a  dome  of  clear  blue  when 
he  awoke  and  looked  about  him.  He  was  on  the 
slope  of  a  falling,  broken  land  in  a  country  he  had 
no  knowledge  of  —  for  your  true  shepherd  never 
leaves  the  little  plot  of  earth  which  rounds  his 
labours,  and  receives  himself  at  the  last.  Below 
him,  and  below  a  gentle  woodland  lay  a  fertile, 
laughing  country  of  hill  and  dale ;  no  great  way 
off  a  walled  city,  with  many  churches  in  it,  and 
one,  notably,  larger  than  all,  overbearing  huge  and 
grey,  with  a  spire  whose  topmost  cross  seemed  to 
be  drowsing  in  the  sky,  alone  above  our  familiar 
air.  This  was  that  very  city  of  Rewish  which  had 
beatified  Vigilas  in  his  life-time,  though  Peridore 
did  not  know  it.  South  and  west  of  it  were  the 
woods,  lapping  like  a  tide  against  the  skirts  of 
the  plain ;  and  beyond  this  green  ocean  he  saw 
the  blue  peaks  and  great  misty  shoulders  of 
mountains.  There,  in  that  far  dim  glory,  should 
be  the  Holy  Mount  which  the  witches  had  told 
each  other  he  must  never  reach.  He  understood 
their  fear,  for  he  knew  —  as  all  his  country  did  by 
name  —  the  Holy  Mount,  abode  of  hermits,  sanc- 
tuary, assurance  of  Heaven's  promised  bliss,  shrine 
indeed  of  that  miraculous  Spear  with  which  Lon- 
ginus  pierced  our  Saviour's  side.  Pilgrims  (in 
clouds  or  trailing  files)  struggled  across  Cauntrip 
to  win  that  sacred  place,  and  in  time  came  back 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  83 

to  the  villages  of  the  east  with  the  balm  of  its 
unearthly  peace  upon  their  mild  faces.  If  he 
could  find  his  way  through  the  guardian  woods 
and  scale  the  splintry  rocks  (Para vail  yet  incor- 
rupt in  his  arms),  he  did  believe  he  should  have 
her  back  in  life:  so  and  not  otherwise.  Thus 
reasoned  young  Peridore  and  said  his  prayers : 
afterwards  he  dared  to  look  at  Paravail  as  she  lay 
covered  on  his  knees,  to  open  the  sheet  and  see 
her  face. 

"  Although  he  had  seen  in  the  course  of  his 
short  life  dead  man,  dead  girl,  dead  child  —  for 
in  his  day,  as  in  our  own  still  sorrowful  day,  life 
and  death  were  bedfellows  —  here  upon  his  lap  lay 
a  beautiful  dead  thing  so  frail  that  before  it  his 
mere  breathing  seemed  to  stop,  as  if  he  feared 
that  the  wind  of  his  nostrils  might  blow  it  away 
like  a  gossamer  wreath.  The  face  of  her,  the 
hands,  the  feet,  were  colour  of  grey  wax ;  but  her 
hair  (all  that  he  recognized  as  of  her)  seemed  of 
deep  burning  colour,  like  the  embers  in  the  heart 
of  a  fire.  Her  lines  were  sharp  and  fine,  her  nose 
pinched  (but  not  very  much),  the  chin  a  bleak 
little  promontory,  the  eyes  closed  fast,  as  if  the 
lids,  being  heavy,  had  shut  of  their  own  weight ; 
there  were  rings  of  a  darker  hue  about  them. 
Her  mouth,  not  quite  closed,  was  still  drawn  tight, 
was  still  ashen  with  the  shock  of  terror  which  had 
killed  her.  Peridore,  who  could  kiss  the  holy 
image  in  the  pax-brede,  dared  not  touch  with  his 
mouth  this  pure,  cold,  stricken  thing.  It  froze 
the  love  out  of  him,  and  the  pity,  and  the  desire 
he  had  had.  All  that  remained  in  him  to  her-ward 
was  awe,  holy  fear — this,  and  a  glowing  spot  of 


84  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

indignation,  that  what  was  so  splendid  once  —  to 
wit,  her  mouth  like  folded  rose-leaves  —  should 
now  be  grey  dust.  After  a  while  this  grain  of 
anger  grew  to  flame  in  him ;  he  found  himself 
possessed  by  it  so  greatly  that  he  feared  to  go 
mad. 

"  He  saw  two  wood-doves  in  a  tree  below  him. 
One  sat  in  the  nest,  the  other  bowed  on  the  branch, 
singing  beside  her.  Peridore  put  down  Paravail 
in  the  fern,  and  with  a  stone  killed  one  of  the 
birds.  He  cut  the  breast  open  and  touched  Para- 
vail's  lips  with  the  blood,  not  able  to  bear  the 
dead  hue  of  them.  Deep  crimson  they  showed, 
and  wet.  He  touched  her  cheeks  with  the  same 
hot  liquor,  anointed  her  hands  and  hair.  A  drop 
or  two  of  this  blood  went  into  her  mouth  at  the 
corner;  and  she  sighed,  and  opened  her  loaded 
eyes,  and  looked  at  Peridore. 

"  Not  surprise,  not  joy,  not  thanksgiving  filled 
him  now,  but  despair  more  black  than  at  first.  She 
lived.  Slowly  and  timidly  came  back  her  breath, 
slowly  the  tide  of  colour  turned,  as  the  grey  was 
quickened  by  the  sanguine.  But  those  eyes 
wherewith  she  looked  at  him  so  awfully  were  now 
dead,  whereas  the  body  lived  —  vacant,  unmind- 
ful, void  of  understanding,  like  streamless  water  in 
a  field  of  snow.  She  looked  and  knew  him  not, 
looked  and  saw  nothing,  looked  and  received  no 
signal  for  her  blood.  What  the  witches  had  said 
of  her  once  falsely,  now  was  true.  Here  was  an 
empty  shell,  here  a  tabernacle  without  a  sojourner, 
a  shrine  here  without  a  god.  If  she  lived,  it  was 
not  for  him ;  if  he  loved,  it  was  not  this  shed  gar- 
ment of  a  girl :  now  his  girl  was  dead  indeed.  He 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  85 

showed  to  God  in  the  sky  his  pinched,  miserable 
face,  he  stretched  towards  Him  clenched  and  des- 
perate fists.  '  O  thou  King  of  Taunts,  now  Thou 
hast  excelled  Thyself ! '  cried  he  blasphemously 
to  God.  It  seemed  to  him  then  as  though  a 
light  flaw  of  cloud  swept  over  and  put  out  the 
sun,  that  the  land  grew  dreary,  the  wind  chill. 
Paravail  whimpered  a  little,  stirred  in  his  arms, 
turned  her  head  about,  but  ever  towards  him,  noz- 
zling  in  his  smock.  The  thought  like  a  gush 
of  blood  leaped  up  from  his  heart  to  choke 
him.  '  Here  I  hold  in  arms  a  new-born  child  ! 
But  one  month  suckled  on  the  breast  of  my 
mother  !  O  miracle  of  grace  vouchsafed !  I  will 
arise  and  go  to  the  Holy  Mount,  that  she  may 
be  nourished.'  Tears  of  joy  streamed  down  his 
cheeks,  down  his  smock,  to  Paravail  on  his  lap. 
He  took  her  up  in  his  arms  and  went  down  with 
her  into  the  great  woods. 

"  Long  time,  time  without  reckoning,  he  battled 
there,  growing  old  with  resource,  having  for  his 
only  guide  the  chance  gleams  of  the  sun,  meeting 
no  one,  living  as  he  could  on  herbs  and  roots,  and 
what  wild  animals  he  had  the  wit  to  kill.  At  first 
and  for  the  most  part  Paravail  slept,  and  he  must 
carry  her;  when  she  awoke  it  was  for  hunger's 
sake,  which  he  (poor  wretch  !)  must  satisfy  as  best 
he  might.  No  questing  parent-bird  hunted  harder 
than  he.  Afterwards  she  seemed  to  grow  stronger 
and,  led  by  him,  able  to  walk  a  little.  This  she 
did  most  patiently,  through  thicket,  holt  and  mo- 
rass, beautiful  wanderer,  nothing  saying,  nothing 
seeing,  heedless,  inconscient,  extraordinarily  meek, 
without  mind  or  motion  of  the  affections,  without 


86  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

memory  or  look  forward.  He  was  apt  to  despair 
of  her  chiefly  on  this  account,  that  she  never  fash- 
ioned words  to  meet  her  needs :  hungry,  she  whim- 
pered ;  filled,  she  slept ;  fondled,  she  laughed  or 
crooned  softly  as  children  use ;  kissed,  she  kissed 
not  again,  but  half  opened  her  mouth  at  the  touch 
of  his ;  and  as  he  kissed  her,  her  soft,  soulless  eyes 
pored  upon  his  face,  wondering  to  see  that  so  near 
and  its  act  so  foolish.  So  he  grew  ashamed,  and 
kissed  her  not  at  all  unless  she  slept.  She  ate 
whatsoever  he  would  give  her,  slept  a  great  deal, 
sometimes  (but  seldom)  moaned  in  her  sleep, 
breathed  very  short,  seemed  easiest  when  he  had 
her  in  his  arms,  or  by  the  hand.  For  his  own 
sanity's  sake,  he  found  that  he  must  talk  to  her, 
even  though  she  neither  answered  or  seemed  to 
hear  him.  Child  as  she  had  become,  so  he 
learned  to  treat  her,  and  so  he  loved  her  now  — 
as  you  love  a  young  child,  without  a  whisper  of 
desire  to  sully  the  pure  pitifulness  of  your  love. 
One  hope  remained  and  one  stay :  let  him  get  her 
to  the  Holy  Mount  and  all  must  be  well.  Do 
him  the  justice  to  believe,  if  you  can,  that  he  had 
no  thought  of  his  own  gain  in  this.  No :  for  the 
sake  of  that  Paravail,  whom  once  he  had  loved, 
he  left  his  father's  house ;  how,  clean  of  all  man- 
nish thought,  for  the  sake  of  this  witless  Paravail 
he  gave  up  hope  itself,  and  took  arms  against  the 
world  as  for  a  babe  of  his  own  adoption.  He 
fathered,  you  may  say,  her  by  whom  he  had  once 
hoped  to  be  a  father :  the  mother  of  his  children 
was  now  his  child.  Thus  Peridore  endured  with 
clean  striving,  and  with  honour  stripped  himself 
of  all  but  honour.  So  at  last,  in  a  little  heathy 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  87 

place,  he  saw  the  peaks  of  mountains  very  near ; 
he  saw  the  chapels  gleaming  white,  thin  trees 
that  brushed  the  blue,  a  temple  in  a  grove,  the 
Holy  Mount.  Blessing  God  for  the  prize  of  his 
endeavour  set  fair  before  him,  he  took  Paravail  by 
her  patient  hand,  and  struck  into  the  last  thickets 
of  the  forest. 

"  Now  as  he  walked,  rilled  with  high  hope,  the 
forest  melted  away  into  aisles  and  clusters  of 
woodland,  open  stretches  of  brake  and  heath, 
sparse  trees,  grassy  places  where  water  was. 
Here  a  cool  breeze  blew  all  day  long,  the  air 
seemed  surcharged  with  the  wealth  of  unaccus- 
tomed light.  A  new  world  opened,  and  a  strange, 
favoured  country-side.  Flowers  were  at  his  feet 
of  sorts  unknown  before ;  the  builder's  stuff,  the 
builder's  art  was  new.  He  passed  a  little  town  of 
white  houses,  tilled  fields  about  it;  he  saw  children 
at  play,  a  white  church  with  a  tower  apart,  which 
canted  a  little  to  one  side.  All  this  was  set  in  a 
mist  of  trees  which  bore  dropping  purple  flowers. 
Here  he  begged  some  bread  and  milk  for  Para- 
vail,  and  rested  an  hour  or  so  on  the  steps  of  the 
church. 

"  Just  beyond  this  place  a  road  ran  sharply  up 
between  chalk  banks,  with  greensward  on  either 
side  dotted  with  juniper  and  yew.  Little  shrines 
were  set  at  every  half-mile  —  Christ  on  the  Cross, 
the  Mother  and  the  Child,  Longinus  holding  up 
the  Spear,  Ursula  mothering  a  legion,  Christopher 
who  bore  the  World  over  the  flood,  the  Magdalene 
clothed  in  her  hair.  The  road  grew  more  broken 
as  it  rose ;  out  of  the  turf  jutted  boulders  of  rock. 
At  last  he  climbed  upon  the  bare  rock  itself,  and 


88  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

only  found  verdure  and  flowers  in  patches,  trees 
that  grew  rarely,  as  by  grace  of  the  stone.  Ever 
higher  and  higher  before  him  rose  the  Holy 
Mount;  but  the  shrines  ceased  not  to  mark  his 
way;  and  now  as  he  climbed  in  keener  air  he 
could  see  the  dappled  country  below  him  —  the 
white  hamlet,  a  river  not  found  before,  the  dream- 
ing woods,  then  (like  a  violet  sea)  the  great  plain 
where  his  home  had  been.  Thither  he  looked 
not  long,  neither  heard  any  cry  in  his  own  heart 
for  those  familiar  places ;  but  turned  his  face  ar- 
dently above  him  to  watch  the  thin  waving  trees 
which  stand  about  the  Temple  of  the  Spear,  the 
hope  and  promise  of  the  broad  eaves,  of  the  brave 
sunshine,  of  the  solitude. 

"  Now  he  has  mounted  the  last  ridge,  the  last 
shoulder,  leading  Paravail ;  and  now  he  stands 
looking  into  the  temple.  Flowers  grow  about  his 
torn  feet,  wide  open  to  the  sun  ;  the  humming  of 
bees  fills  the  air ;  he  smells  the  thyme.  Within 
the  deep  recesses  of  the  court  youths  in  white 
robes  move  quietly  to  and  fro  upon  the  sacred 
business  of  the  place.  Paravail  begins  to  tremble. 
Feeling  her  agitation,  Peridore's  knees  knock 
together.  All  is  very  still.  Yet  he  dares  to  go  in. 

"  He  follows  the  sound  of  water  splashing  on 
bricks ;  he  goes  into  the  court ;  Paravail  follows 
as  she  is  led.  Far  within  the  court  he  sees  the 
image  of  our  Lady  seated,  the  Child  in  her  lap ; 
and  here  he  stands  irresolute,  afraid  to  go  further. 
A  youth  in  a  white  tunic,  barefooted,  comes  out 
from  behind  a  green  curtain,  stands  looking 
gravely  at  the  new  comers.  Peridore  holds  out 
his  hand,  palm  upwards.  '  I  claim  succour  of 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  89 

this  holy  place,'  says  he.  *  For  whom  ?  '  the  youth 
asks  him.  '  For  this  child,  who  was  dead,'  says 
Peridore,  '  and  now  is  new  born.' 

"  The  youth  replies,  '  Give  her  to  me.'  '  Not 
so,'  says  Peridore  ;  '  you  can  do  no  more  than  I, 
nor  yet  so  much.'  Then  says  the  youth,  *  Stay 
here,  then,  till  I  come  back.'  He  goes  away. 
Peridore  sits  at  the  foot  of  the  image  with  Para- 
vail  beside  him.  He  hears  the  pigeons  murmur- 
ing on  the  roof,  the  light  falling  of  water,  no  other 
sounds.  He  says  his  prayers. 

"  The  youth  came  back  after  a  while,  saying  to 
Peridore,  '  You  shall  follow  me  with  the  child.' 
So  Peridore  got  up  and  followed  him  through 
many  corridors  until  he  was  brought  between 
curtains  into  a  long,  dim,  fragrant  room,  whose 
ceiling  was  coffered  with  cedar-wood  and  at  one 
end  a  recess  curtained  white,  with  a  bed  in  it ; 
and  sitting  on  the  bed  a  young  woman,  dark-haired 
and  full  in  the  eye,  in  a  white  gown  which  was 
held  loosely  about  her  person  by  a  red  girdle. 
Peridore  knelt  down,  and  guided  by  his  hand 
Paravail  followed  him.  Then  the  youth  said,  who 
had  brought  them  in,  '  Here  is  the  succour  you 
need.'  '  I  am  sure  of  it,'  says  Peridore ;  and  the 
young  woman,  '  Give  her  to  me.'  Peridore  led 
Paravail  forward ;  and  as  he  came  on  he  saw  the 
young  woman  unfasten  the  girdle  that  confined 
her  gown,  and  shake  her  head  so  that  all  her  hair 
fell  loose  about  her  shoulders  and  neck.  Then 
Paravail  was  brought  to  her  and  at  her  hands 
received.  Peridore,  his  charge  given  over,  stood 
at  one  end  of  the  bed,  the  youth  at  the  other. 

"  The  young  woman  clasped  Paravail  about  the 


90  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

body  and  held  her  very  close  to  herself,  looking 
up  into  her  face.  This  she  did  for  some  little 
time,  and  slowly  Peridore  saw  a  change  come  over 
the  girl.  Paravail,  who  had  been  dead  white  ever 
since  she  had  awoken  on  the  hill-side,  now  flooded 
with  colour.  She  shut  her  eyes,  swayed  about, 
seemed  as  if  she  must  fall.  But  the  young  woman 
held  her  close.  Slowly  then  her  knees  faltered ; 
and  as  she  sank  the  woman  opened  her  own  knees 
and  received  Paravail  upon  them,  still  holding  her 
in  arms.  Paravail  fell  gently  into  her  lap,  and  lay 
there  unconscious,  with  shut  eyes  and  open  lips, 
breathing  very  fast.  Then  the  young  woman  laid 
the  girl's  cheek  against  her  bosom,  and  opening 
her  gown  bared  her  breast.  And  as  she  put  the 
nipple  between  Paravail's  lips  she  whispered  low 
in  her  ear,  urgent,  secret  words  which  Peridore 
could  not  hear;  and  Paravail,  after  one  or  two 
shakings  of  the  head,  one  or  two  struggles,  one  or 
two  jerks  of  the  body,  lay  quite  still,  with  shut 
eyes  and  slow-moving  hands,  drinking  deeply  at 
the  fount  of  our  life.  The  only  sound  Peridore 
heard,  above  and  besides  that  of  Paravail  drink- 
ing, was  the  knocking  of  his  own  thankful  heart. 
'  Are  you  content  ? '  asked  him  the  youth  who  had 
guided  him,  in  a  low  voice.  Peridore  bowed  his 
head.  Then  that  youth  took  him  away. 

"Afterwards  he  understood,  without  learning, 
the  meaning  of  these  things,  but  not  until  the  full 
time  of  Paravail's  suckling  had  been  accomplished. 
One  month  she  had  drunk  of  Ankeret  Foliot ;  five 
full  months  more  she  must  needs  be  nourished 
here,  for  shorter  time  than  this  will  not  suffice  to 
woo  a  human  soul  into  a  child's  body.  That  is 


DAN  COSTARD'S  TALE  91 

the  old  rule,  wonderfully  signified  in  the  case  of 
this  Paravail.  During  such  time,  while  he  saw 
nothing  of  her,  I  know  that  he  too  renewed  him- 
self, suffering  without  being  conscious  of  it,  a 
silent  change.  For  as  he  had  got  fortitude  before 
by  the  driving  of  youthful  passion,  so  now  he  won 
an  equal  mind,  right  judgment,  cool  blood  after 
heat,  fear  of  God,  patience,  disposition  of  the  reins, 
subjection  of  all  members.  Winning  these  he  grew 
from  lad  to  man,  and  instead  of  the  boyish  doting 
wherewith  he  had  regarded  Paravail  at  first,  he 
had  strenuous,  long-minded,  equable  love:  in  a 
word,  from  innocence  he  had  come  through  scorch- 
ing to  win  innocence  back. 

"  At  the  end  of  five  full  months,  in  the  mellow 
days  of  harvest,  he  received  Paravail  from  the 
hands  of  the  young  woman  who  had  fostered  her ; 
and  whether  by  reason  of  his  own  discipline  or  of 
hers  —  a  hard  matter  to  determine — scarcely  knew 
her  again.  Whereas  she  had  been  little,  now  she 
seemed  tall ;  whereas  she  had  been  knit,  now  she 
seemed  lax  and  delicate ;  whereas  the  weather  had 
browned  her  skin,  now  she  was  pale  as  honey. 
Her  eyes  were  mild  and  large  which  had  once 
been  bright,  piercing  and  sharp  as  a  mouse's  eyes. 
She  spoke  gravely,  and  in  a  low  voice ;  she  kept 
very  still.  When  he  came  to  her,  when  she  saw 
him  again,  they  stood  shyly  apart,  as  two  children 
who  meet  for  the  first  time.  Then  Paravail  drew 
near  to  Peridore  and  gave  him  her  cool  cheek  to 
kiss ;  and  he  remembered  how,  before,  she  had 
been  wont  to  jump  at  him,  and  with  both  arms  to 
cling  to  his  neck,  her  eager  mouth  questing  for  his. 
Now  by  his  side  with  bent  head  she  knelt  to  kiss 


92  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

the  knees  of  her  foster-mother.  With  him,  obe- 
dient, modest,  pre-sanctified,  chaste,  she  went 
down  the  Holy  Mount  and  began  the  long  way 
to  Amberford-Mary  across  the  plain,  where  his 
parents  lived  and  he  would  wed  her.  No  word 
passed  between  them  of  this  matter,  but  either 
accepted  it  —  she  with  the  dutiful  meekness  of  a 
wife  sobering  her  heart,  and  he  with  the  strong 
assurance  of  a  man  nascent  in  him. 

"  One  last  trial  remained  before  these  two  way- 
farers could  stay  their  feet.  As  God  would  have 
it,  when  they  drew  near  to  that  city  of  Rewish 
which  Peridore  had  seen  upon  his  flight,  they 
entered  into  the  gates  of  it,  meaning  to  seek  lodg- 
ing for  the  night,  and  the  consolations  of  the  holy 
mass  before  they  went  further  on  their  journey. 
Now,  as  they  moved  along  the  street  which  goes 
from  the  West  Gate  to  the  Corn  Market,  behold, 
two  women  in  red  hoods  met  them,  looked  in- 
tently, turned  after,  and  followed  them,  talking 
in  whispers,  vehemently  disputing  together.  So 
when  our  two,  being  weary  with  their  travel,  sat 
down  in  the  shade  on  the  steps  of  a  church, 
these  other  two  came  by ;  and  one  peered  into 
Peridore's  face  under  the  brim  of  his  hat.  Then 
she  turned  to  the  other  who  was  by,  and  said, 
1  This  is  he.  This  is  the  shepherd  whom  we 
chased.'  And  then — '  He  hath  been  to  the  Holy 
Mount.'  At  this  they  both  shuddered  and  beat 
their  flanks,  saying  to  each  other,  '  We  are  un- 
done.' So  they  sped  away  together,  talking  fast. 
Peridore  remembered  the  night  when  witches  had 
chased  him,  but  Paravail,  as  he  believed,  did  not. 
So  he  told  her  nothing  about  it.  They  ate  their 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  93 

victuals,  and  Paravail  slept  in  the  shade  of  the 
church  door.  Peridore  could  not  sleep. 

"  Now,  presently  there  is  a  great  noise  afar  off, 
which  grows  as  it  comes  nearer:  a  noise  of  run- 
ning feet,  of  a  shrill  woman  crying,  '  This  way, 
this  way ! '  confused  calling,  cries  for  the  Watch. 
Peridore  sits  still.  He  sees  the  woman  in  a  hood 
come  with  a  rabble,  calling  still,  '  This  way,  this 
way !  Take  the  witch  and  her  leman.  Take  the 
burner  of  Bleme ! '  She  points  out  Peridore. 
Then  they  come  and  seize  him ;  Paravail  also 
they  take  and  bind  her  hands  behind  her.  Each 
is  led  a  different  way :  he  to  the  common  gaol, 
she  to  the  place  of  bad  women. 

"  Paravail  in  the  stews,  as  a  flower  set  in  this 
monstrous  bed  of  weeds,  sits  apart,  slim  and  tall, 
while  the  lost  wretches  clamour  and  rail  about  her. 
Not  a  word  has  she  to  say  to  them,  for  she  knows 
not  their  language,  being  new  come,  as  it  were, 
from  the  knees  of  her  mother.  But  Peridore  eats 
misery  in  a  solitary  cell,  and  the  rats  come  to  eat 
in  his  company. 

"  They  bring  him  up  before  the  Assize,  charged 
with  the  burning  of  the  hut  at  Bleme  Barrow  and 
attempt  to  kill  and  murder  the  holy  tenant  thereof 
with  a  pick.  Peridore  denies  the  first,  admits  the 
second.  Asked  how  he  justifies  so  atrocious  a 
deed,  he  says  nothing,  because  in  his  heart  he  has 
no  grudge  against  Blessed  Vigilas  and  will  not 
condemn  the  man.  He  is  adjudged  to  death  by 
hanging.  '  Be  it  so,'  says  he ;  'but  I  ask  one  grace 
of  you.  Let  me  see  Paravail  before  I  die,  yet  let 
her  not  see  me  die.'  They  tell  him  that  she  has 
been  denounced  for  a  possessed  on  the  testimony 


94  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

of  two  women.  '  Fob ! '  says  Peridore,  shocked, 
'  these  women  are  themselves  notorious  witches, 
who  sat  by  night  obscenely  on  the  roof-tree  of  old 
Vigilas,  and  compassed  his  destruction,  and  mine, 
and  Paravail's.  And  now  you  permit  them  to 
do  it ! '  They  say,  '  Very  well,  we  will  send  for 
Blessed  Vigilas,  and  hear  what  he  hath  to  say 
concerning  the  girl  accused.'  '  Ah,  God  of  gods, 
never  do  that ! '  cries  Peridore,  knowing  very  well 
what  the  hermit  believed.  But  they  did  send  for 
him,  to  be  in  Rewish  on  a  certain  day,  when  a  fire 
would  be  ready  for  Paravail,  and  for  Peridore  a 
new  rope. 

"  That  day  came.  Paravail,  bound,  was  led  out 
and  tied  to  a  stake  in  the  midst  of  brushwood  and 
kindling-wood ;  Peridore  was  roped  about  the 
neck,  ready  to  be  swung  upon  a  gallows  over  the 
fire  which  should  consume  Paravail.  Thus  as 
they  waited  for  Blessed  Vigilas,  Peridore  ceased 
not  to  comfort  Paravail  with  words  of  great  cheer- 
fulness and  good  hope.  Anon  there  is  a  shout 
by  the  gates, '  Hail  the  man  of  God !  Ha,  Blessed 
Vigilas ! '  and  Vigilas  came  striding  through  the 
press  of  people  with  cavernous  eyes  glowing  like 
coals,  and  a  fearful  white  face  wherethrough  the 
bones  showed  purplish.  He  went  directly  to  the 
fire  where  Paravail  was  bound,  and  pointed  to  it 
with  his  shaking  hand.  '  Loose  me  that  maid,' 
said  he,  as  hoarse  as  an  old  sheep.  It  was  done. 
Then,  pointing  in  like  manner  to  Peridore,  he 
saith  again,  '  Loose  me  him ; '  and  he  was  obeyed. 

"  Then  Blessed  Vigilas  turned  to  the  people 
and  said,  '  Vain  glory  hath  nearly  consumed  me : 
there  is  little  left  for  the  rope  and  the  fire.  But 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  95 

because  I  devised  the  murder  of  this  innocent  I 
am  worthy  of  the  rope ;  and  because  the  devil  in 
me  caused  me  to  see  a  devil  in  her,  he  must  be 
scorched  in  the  fire.  And  because  my  old  enemy 
the  devil  thinketh  to  have  me  in  Hell  at  his  pleas- 
ure, he  shall  have  me  there  against  his  pleasure. 
Assuredly  I  will  go  to  Hell.  I  will  go  down  to 
him  to  his  familiar  camping-ground  and  give  him 
battle.  Fifty  year  five  have  I  contended  with  him, 
and  mostly  beaten  him,  as  you,  men  of  Rewish, 
can  testify.  Now  let  God  testify  (since  you  shall 
never  see  it)  that  I  go  to  Hell  willingly,  to  do 
His  work  there,  when  I  contend  with  Legion  in 
the  sulphurous  field  in  sacula  sczculorum.  For  in 
Hell  also  should  God  Almighty  be  served,  and  I 
will  do  it.' 

"  He  turned  to  Paravail  and  said,  *  Child,  Par- 
avail,  I  have  wronged  thee  from  the  very  begin- 
ning, but  this  youth  hath  loved  thee  well  from  the 
beginning.  His  simplicity  is  better  than  my  cun- 
ning. Go  thou  to  him,  and  love  and  obey  him ; 
for  he  hath  won  i\\ee  par  avail  I"1  He  gave  her 
hand  into  Peridore's,  saying,  '  Boy  in  years,  that 
through  bloody  sweat  art  grown  a  man,  I  have 
wronged  thee  grievously ;  but  thou  shalt  think  no 
harm  of  me  now.  For,  through  our  stripes  we 
are  healed — as  thou  art  healed.  And  I,  who 
have  not  had  (as  it  seemeth)  stripes  enough,  now 
I  am  about  to  be  healed.  Take,  love,  cherish, 
honour  Paravail.' 

"  When  he  had  joined  their  two  hands  and 
blessed  them,  he  said,  '  Now  put  that  rope  about 
my  proud  neck.'  They  did  it,  and  he  walked 
into  the  midst  of  the  brushwood.  '  Now,'  said 


96 

he,  '  put  fire  about  my  wicked  body ; '  and  he 
was  obeyed.  And  when  the  fire  had  got  good 
hold,  as  he  judged  by  the  crackling  and  leaping 
thereof,  he  said,  '  Hoist  me  up  by  the  rope,  good 
people ;  but  not  so  far  that  the  fire  cannot  catch 
me.'  As  they  hoisted  him  up  he  cried  out  in  a 
loud  voice,  '  Have  at  thee,  Legion,  for  a  last 
time ! '  And  so  died  Blessed  Vigilas. 

"  At  this  time,  as  the  report  comes  to  me  from 
ancient  men,  eye-witnesses  of  these  things,  a 
shower  of  rose  leaves  fell  out  of  the  clear  sky  and 
lay  all  over  Paravail,  on  her  hair  and  shoulders, 
on  her  bosom  and  arms,  and  over  the  folds  of  her 
gown.  Some  dropped  from  her  upon  Peridore, 
and  one  (they  say)  near  to  old  Vigilas  in  his  fire. 
But  this  is  not  quite  certain,  because  the  smoke 
was  very  thick  about  him.  And  they  add,  that 
after  Blessed  Vigilas  had  tumbled  from  the  burnt 
rope  into  the  fire,  a  large  white  bird,  having  the 
feet  of  a  swan,  the  body  and  wings  of  an  albatross, 
and  the  neck  and  head  of  a  phoenix  (that  Asian 
bird),  flew  up  from  the  ashes  of  the  fire  and  hung 
with  stretched-out  wings  over  the  city  of  Rewish ; 
then  sailed  slowly  away  down  the  wind  (which 
came  from  the  east)  until  it  could  be  seen  no 
more.  And  that  night  forty  evil-livers  in  Rewish 
were  brought  to  a  lively  sense  of  their  sin. 

"  The  tale  saith  no  more.  But  I  say  this  very 
sincerely,  That  if  the  fear  of  God  is  the  beginning 
of  wisdom,  the  love  of  Him  is  the  end  of  it ;  to 
which  we  must  all  attain  if  we  would  walk  as 
reasonable,  hopeful  men  —  but  hardly,  until  by 
patience  and  tribulation  we  have  sounded  the 
deeps  of  that  our  early  fear,  and  learned  that  in  a 


DAN   COSTARD'S  TALE  97 

single  heart  only  there  is  no  room  for  that  and 
Divine  love.  So  therefore  Christ  teach  us  to 
learn.  Amen ! " 

Dan  Costard  with  much  solemnity  ended  a  dis- 
course, to  which  Captain  Brazenhead  felt  that  he 
had  really  very  little  to  add.  He  thought  fit, 
however,  to  give  the  assurance  of  a  man  of  bloody 
conversation  —  "  forced  upon  me,"  as  he  said, "  by 
the  necessities  of  this  world,  and  in  all  hope  that 
in  the  next  I  may  have  space  for  amendment"  — 
that  he  approved  every  word  uttered  by  the  good 
priest,  and  that  he  could  very  well  picture  the 
notable  strife  which  must  have  ensued  if  Blessed 
Vigilas,  as  good  as  his  word,  had  met  old  Black- 
beard  face  to  face  in  the  fields  of  Dis.  "  With  a 
good  blade  (said  he),  of  Ferrarese  make,  for 
choice,  waggling  in  his  right  hand,  his  cloak  over 
his  left  arm  for  a  guard,  there  should  certainly  be 
(as  we  say)  the  devil  to  pay."  The  Prioress  said 
nothing ;  the  Scrivener  implied  that  the  tale  re- 
minded him  of  one  very  similar,  but  much  more 
striking,  which  he  had  heard  in  his  extreme  youth. 
Mawdleyn  and  Percival  paced  their  horses  soberly 
side  by  side,  it  being  unobserved  (as  they  were 
unobservant)  that  their  two  hands  had  not  yet 
separated.  It  is  not  quite  certain  that  the  Prior- 
ess was  hard  of  sight ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  at  all 
that  she  left  the  young  couple  alone. 

So,  riding  comfortably  among  leafy  lanes,  they 
came  by  the  end  of  the  day  to  the  thick  woods 
about  Crooksbury,  and  found  harbourage  in  the 
meadows  ringed  with  trees  by  the  side  of  a  little 
river.  For  that  is  where  Waverley  had,  and  still 
has,  its  pleasant  seat. 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE 

WHEN  the  company  had  betaken  themselves 
to  the  shady  roads  which  lead  out  of  Waverley, 
had  wound  about  Crooksbury  and  about,  and 
were  in  the  lane  which  turns  in  and  out  of  tillage 
to  reach  Saint  Catherine's  Chapel,  the  Prioress  of 
Ambresbury  turned  to  Captain  Brazenhead  who 
rode  near  by,  and  said,  '  Mindful  of  our  conversa- 
tion this  morning,  sir,  I  call  upon  you  to  tell  us 
a  tale.  I  hope  it  may  occur  to  you  to  make  a 
text  of  that  discourse." 

"  It  had  already  occurred  to  me,  madam,"  replied 
the  Captain,  seldom  at  a  loss  where  women  were 
concerned;  "It  occurred  to  me  the  moment  our 
talk  was  interrupted.  From  the  stores  of  my  ex- 
perience I  shall  draw  forth  a  tragic  dish  for  your 
digestion.  And  I  hope,"  he  added  in  a  louder 
tone,  "  I  hope,  nephew  Piers,  you  will  give  heed 
to  what  I  am  about  to  relate." 

"  I  shall  obey  you,  sir,"  said  Percival,  "  so  far  as 
duty  to  my  mistress  allow." 

"  A  good  lad  spoke  there,  my  lady,"  said  the 
Captain,  "  unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken." 

"  Do  you  intend  to  tell  us  a  tale,  sir  ? "  the 
Scrivener  asked,  edging  up  his  animal. 

"  There  is  some  thought  of  it,  sir,"  replied  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead ;  "  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  The 
Scrivener  wetted  his  lips. 

101 


102  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  I  have  just  remembered  a  little  story  more 
remarkable  than  any  we  have  had  yet,  and  much 
more  remarkable  than  any  we  are  like  to  have," 
he  said.  "  I  suppose  it  will  be  agreeable  to  this 
company  that  I  should  relate  such  a  tale  as  that." 

"  It  will  be  very  disagreeable  to  me,  sir,"  said  the 
Captain,  "  and  there  you  have  the  bitter  truth." 

"  I  call  on  old  Brazenface,"  cries  Smith  the  ship- 
man,  and  for  once  the  Captain  was  glad  of  him. 
The  Prioress  agreed. 

"  We  will  certainly  hear  Captain  Brazenhead," 
she  decided.  The  Captain  pulled  his  moustache 
towards  his  eye.  In  due  time  a  bee  settled  on  it. 

Here  follows  Captain  Brazenhead's  tale,  which 
he  called 

THE  HALF-BROTHERS* 

"  By  Cock  and  his  Father,"  said  he,  with 
emphasis,  "  but  I  will  tell  you  a  tale  which  I 
had  out  of  Italy  when  I  served  there  under  Sir 
John,  him  (that  is)  of  steel  and  whipcord  whom 
the  Italians  called  John  Aguto,  meaning  (I  doubt 
not)  sharp  as  a  hawk ;  which  he  was  by  name  and 
nature,  I  assure  you." 

"  If  you  served  Sir  John  Hawkwood,  sir,"  said 
the  Scrivener,  "  then  are  your  years  at  this  day 
one  hundred  and  twenty-three." 

"  Let  my  years  be  what  they  will,"  replied  the 
Captain,  "  my  saying  is  what  it  is.  My  tale  will 
cause  you  to  weep;  and  why  not?  since  weep- 
ing is  the  fashion,  and  a  known  old  purge  of 
black  and  other  kinds  of  bile.  But  because  my 
own  humour  is  so,  you  shall  laugh,  I  warrant  you, 
between  the  showers." 

*  Copyright,  1901,  by  Maurice  Hewlett. 


CAPTAIN   SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    103 

"  Oh,  cut  short,  cut  short,  for  your  common 
credit's  sake ! "  cried  out  Master  Richard  Smith. 
"  Will  you  turn  hedge-priest  at  your  time  of  life  ? 
Body  of  me,  I  had  reached  '  Love  me  for  ever ' 
by  this  time." 

"  Listen  nevertheless  to  me,"  pursued  Salomon 
Brazenhead.  "  When  I  first  went  into  Italy  there 
was  living  and  ruling  Castelfranco  in  the  Venetian 
March  a  stone-faced  old  smiter  whose  name  was 
Tuzio  Costanza;  black  as  a  black  stallion  and 
headed  like  a  Roman  soldier  was  he.  He  was 
a  faithful  servant  of  the  Republic  of  Venice,  by 
whom  indeed  he  ruled  his  domains  in  peace ;  and 
father  also  of  two  sons,  one  lawfully  begotten  of 
the  body  of  his  good  lady,  and  one  got  way  wardly, 
as  we  say,  without  leave  or  licence  of  the  Church. 
But  just  as  if,  for  once,  Nature  was  on  the  side  of 
Religion,  it  was  so,  that  the  lawful  son,  who  was 
called  Matteo,  showed  himself  whole  Costanza, 
and  bore  his  title-deeds  upon  his  person,  being 
swarthy,  black  and  bold-looking,  a  heavy-browed, 
sullen  boy,  terrible  to  fight ;  and  that  the  love- 
child,  Luca  (so  they  named  him),  favoured  the 
angels,  as  being  golden-haired,  soft  in  the  skin,  red 
and  white  like  a  miss  of  fourteen.  Year  for  year, 
so  they  stood  when  I  saw  them  first :  sixteen  years 
old  apiece,  as  loving  as  the  Blessed  Gemini  who 
cuddle  each  other  all  day  long  on  the  holy  Zodiac, 
and  all  night  are  at  the  same  loving  play,  if  the 
astrologers  are  to  be  believed. 

"  At  this  time  Master  Tuzio  lost  his  very  excel- 
lent lady,  a  woman  whom  he  had  in  such  order 
that  she  had  mothered  the  motherless  Luca 
as  if  he  had  been  very  twin  with  her  Matteo; 


104  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

he  lost  her,  I  say,  of  a  summer  colic  which  sent 
her  post-haste  to  the  churchyard ;  and  he,  making 
the  best  of  it,  and  disposed  to  use  the  rest  of  his 
life  in  comfort  and  honour,  conceived  his  first 
business  to  be  the  settlement  of  his  two  lads,  whose 
legs  were  too  long  and  their  appetites  for  one 
thing  or  another  too  keen  for  the  little  fee  of 
Castelfranco  to  nourish.  What .  must  he  do  in- 
continent, but  send  them  East  and  West  ?  Luca, 
the  pretty  boy,  had  a  ticklish  palm  and  a  tongue 
as  smooth  as  melting  butter.  '  Off  with  you, 
chicken,'  says  his  father,  '  to  Venice  and  the 
Prior  of  Saint  Gregory.  We  will  have  you  in  a 
frock ;  for  those  qualities  of  yours  command  their 
price  within  the  true  fold  all  the  world  over.'  But 
Matteo,  bone  of  his  bone,  heir  of  his  name,  his 
counterpart  in  face,  shape,  and  temper,  he  sends 
into  Lombardy,  to  learn  fighting  from  an  ancient 
foe  of  his,  and  very  good  friend  at  the  same  time ; 
I  mean  old  Pierfrancesco  Visdomini,  Lord  of  Pes- 
chiera,  standard-bearer  to  Messer  Bernabb  the 
tyrant  of  Milan. 

" '  Go,  Matt,'  says  this  stout  old  father,  '  go  you, 
my  son,  and  learn  of  my  friend  Pierfrancesco  how 
best  you  may  cut  his  throat  in  after  years.'  And 
off  went  Matteo  in  great  fettle,  having  first  kissed 
on  both  cheeks  and  on  soft  red  mouth  his  half- 
brother  Luca,  the  future  Archbishop.  Of  Luca, 
I  say  little  here ;  but  of  Matteo  I  tell  you  most 
plainly,  that  black-avised  young  scowler  had  a 
heart  like  hidden  fire,  and  when  he  loved,  loved 
altogether  with  a  consuming  rage.  Do  you  know 
that  sacred  saying  concerning  the  devils,  which 
reads  backwards  as  well  as  forwards,  and  so  pro- 


CAPTAIN   SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    105 

claims  its  dreadful  power :  In  Girum  Imus  Noctu 
Non  Ut  Consumimur  Igni  ?  Now,  so  it  was  with 
Matteo  Costanza :  he  went  in  chains,  lest  (loosing 
himself  to  love)  he  should  be  devoured  in  his  own 
flame. 

"  He  took  the  road  to  Peschiera,  a  place  which 
lies  on  a  tongue  of  yellow  sand  upon  the  dark 
blue  waters  of  Garda;  and  by  means  of  letters 
of  his  father's  was  nobly  received  by  Master  Pier- 
francesco,  and  hospitably  entertained  for  two  or 
three  years.  He  learned  of  his  teacher  various 
noble  old  virtues  now  outmoded  and  unsung,  to 
wit,  sobriety,  measure,  reticence,  and  a  power  of 
hitting  so  terrible  that  you  are  very  wary  of  hit- 
ting at  all.  He  learned  to  prick  with  the  spear 
by  being  well  pricked  himself,  to  hew  with  broad 
sword  and  stab  with  dagger  by  the  same  good 
precept.  He  could  use  a  bow,  an  arbalest,  a 
pike;  he  grew  to  be  part  of  his  horse,  and  to 
make  his  followers  parts  of  him.  Oh,  trust  me, 
Sir  John  Hawkwood  would  never  have  said  of 
him,  '  Here  is  a  son  of  my  old  age ! '  if  these 
things  had  not  been  as  I  tell  you. 

"  All  this  he  took  of  Pierfrancesco  Visdomini, 
standard-bearer  to  Bernabb  of  Milan ;  but  he 
took  more  —  alack !  here  comes  my  tale  to  a 
fester-point,  that  he  took  much  more  than  this. 
Pierfrancesco,  you  must  know,  had  a  son  and 
a  daughter;  the  son,  Pierluigi,  serving  with  the 
Florentines,  a  wolfish  young  man,  mostly  hungry 
like  his  father;  the  daughter,  Madonna  Emilia, 
in  those  days  at  home,  a  pale,  thinnish,  smil- 
ing girl,  very  tender  and  shrinking  and  anxious 
to  please  you;  a  moonfaced,  sidling,  cuddling, 


106  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

snoozling,  snuggling,  coaxing,  adoring,  mother- 
ing, greensick  little  slip  of  delicacy,  fifteen  years 
old  and  no  more,  by  Cock  and  the  Prophet  Jonah. 

"Young  Matteo,  exercising  his  strong  body 
with  the  pricking  of  lances  and  what-not,  grew 
mannish,  and  cast  about  him  mannish  looks  at 
maids  and  such  like  cates.  Young  Emilia 
thought  him  a  dog,  but  ended  (as  is  the  way  of 
her  kind)  by  reversing  the  letters  and  finding  him 
a  god.  Body  and  soul,  she  was  then  his  to  dis- 
pose. She  fed  upon  him,  prayed  to  him,  lay  at 
his  feet  in  the  wet  grass.  Did  he  lift  a  finger 
she  came  trembling  up;  did  he  lift  an  eyebrow 
she  thought  her  last  hour  was  come,  and  that  she 
deserved  it  richly.  Was  he  kind,  she  panted; 
was  he  cold,  she  shivered  as  one  naked  in  the 
wind.  In  a  word,  she  adored  mankind  in  him 
because  he  was  the  only  man  she  had  ever  seen ; 
and  he,  red-hot  lover  as  he  was,  shook  off  his 
chains  and  ate  her  up." 

"Out  upon  you,  sir,"  said  Sister  Guiscarda,  a 
severe  virgin  of  mature  age,  "  Out  upon  you,  sir; 
you  talk  as  if  we  were  all  for  the  same  meal ! " 

"  By  my  strong  soul,  you  wrong  me,  Sister," 
cried  Captain  Brazenhead,  "  I  have  no  ill  mean- 
ing here.  Matteo  Costanza  was  a  youth  of  eigh- 
teen years  old,  the  soul  of  honour.  I  speak  of  her 
spiritual  part,  which  is  all  that  he  ever  ate,  poor 
young  man.  He  was  no  ruffian.  Far  from  that, 
he  thought  of  her  as  of  the  Mother  of  God.  But 
I  proceed,  by  your  leave.  These  pretty  two  ex- 
changed vows,  kisses,  clingings,  fierce  gropings 
of  heart.  He  swore  her  his  upon  the  Cross  and 
Christ,  upon  the  Sorrowful  and  Joyful  Mysteries, 


CAPTAIN   SALOMON   BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    107 

upon  Heaven  and  Hell,  and  Death  and  Judg- 
ment. I  believe  upon  my  immortal  hope  that 
there  never  was  a  couple  more  gloriously  unhappy 
since  lovers  first  found  delight  in  tearing  each 
other  by  the  heart-strings.  One  year  it  took  him 
to  see  her  lovely,  one  year  to  make  her  the  most 
wretched  girl  in  the  world ;  in  the  middle  of  the 
third  year  Bernabo  of  Milan  bought  up  my  mas- 
ter Sir  John  for  a  bout  with  Venice,  and  me  (as 
the  fact  was)  in  his  pocket.  '  Go,  Matteo,'  said 
Pierfrancesco  Visdomini ;  '  my  master  Lord  Ber- 
nabb  makes  war  upon  Venice  in  fifteen  days.  This 
night  I  kiss  you ;  but  to-morrow  I  shall  spit  in 
your  face.  This  night  you  are  my  dear  good  boy, 
son  of  my  old  friend  Tuzio ;  but  to-morrow  I  shall 
see  in  you  a  black  imp  of  that  old  rascal  Costanza, 
my  abhorred  enemy.  Go  now.  Pack  your  saddle 
and  away.'  There  was  no  other  road  for  Matteo 
but  that  of  Venice.  Much  as  he  loved  his  Emilia, 
he  had  no  thought  then  to  sell  his  country,  his 
father  and  his  patrimony.  There  followed,  by 
Cock,  the  most  sorrowful  leave-taking  of  lad  and 
lass  you  ever  saw  in  all  your  days.  What  a  strain- 
ing of  young  breasts,  what  a  kissing,  what  a  search- 
ing of  hot  eyes,  what  sobbing,  what  horrible  silences 
were  there !  Blood  fills  these  hardy  eyes  of  mine 
at  the  thought.  As  for  you,  ladies,  what  are  your 
little  hearts  doing  at  this  moment?  Jumping 
like  frogs  in  the  wet,  I'll  go  bail !  They  may 
well  jump,  for  this  was  a  desperate  young  busi- 
ness, I  give  you  my  word.  He  swore  her  true  as 
steel ;  he  frightened  her  sorely ;  he  cursed  and 
kissed,  he  strained  and  forced  away.  Back  she 
came  creeping,  holding  out  her  hands,  and  her 


io8  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

face  put  meek  and  sideways :  so  all's  to  do  again. 
Go  he  must  and  did.  He  saw  his  Emilia  stand 
on  the  tower's  top,  waving  him  farewell  by  the 
light  of  the  moon.  She  fluttered  thin  and  white, 
like  a  little  flag.  He  shook  his  sword  in  her  direc- 
tion, threat  or  greeting,  half  one  and  half  t'other. 
So  he  went  to  the  wars,  and  his  most  unhappy 
star  was  kindled. 

"  He  proved  a  fighter  of  the  best.  Sir  John  took 
the  Milanese  afield  against  Venice  and  Mantua, 
and  met  their  hosts  in  the  plain  of  Legnago ;  but 
whether  it  was  the  ground,  or  the  silly  cattle  he 
had  to  lead,  or  (as  the  plain  truth  was)  that  my 
stomach  had  turned  sour  overnight  and  caused 
me  to  see  monsters  where  were  only  light-armed 
horsemen  of  Treviso  and  the  parts  adjacent  —  the 
fact  is  as  clear  as  In  Principio  erat  verbum,  that 
the  Milanese  were  routed  and  broken  up,  and 
that  you  might  see  young  Matteo  Costanza  rang- 
ing the  field  like  a  colt  in  a  green  paddock.  I 
gauge  the  feelings  of  a  father  by  a  nose  I  have  for 
such  sweet  motions ;  so  I  gauge  old  Tuzio's  feel- 
ings to  see  so  hopeful  a  slip  of  his  grafting.  And 
I  am  glad  that  he  had  them,  friends  all,  for  (if  you 
will  believe  me)  they  were  his  last.  Yes,  yes,  his 
horse  stumbled  in  the  last  charge  home;  and  it 
was  his  own  troop  rode  over  him,  and  frittered  up 
his  ribs  and  his  midriff.  Matteo  found  himself 
orphaned  by  his  honest  feudatories,  and  himself 
their  mesne  lord  at  the  same  stroke.  They  tell 
me  he  sat  afield,  smoking  hot  from  his  late 
exploits,  and  on  his  knees  held  what  remained  of 
his  old  father.  From  his  man's  work  he  came 
back  to  boy's  work;  he  snivelled  and  looked 


CAFTAIN   SALOMON   BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    109 

pinched.  What !  But  I  honour  him  for  it.  They 
were  good  tears,  holy  tears :  a  many  such  have  I 
shed.  By  the  Mass,  I  could  weep  now ! 

"  They  laid  the  pashed  old  fighting  hound  on 
a  tressle-bier  and  let  Matteo  take  him  home  to 
Castelfranco.  It  behoved  the  Republic,  d'ye  see, 
to  put  in  Matteo  as  soon  as  might  be,  lest  mischief 
should  come  of  it.  Nobody  who  knew  my  master, 
Sir  John,  would  suppose  him  slow  to  the  advan- 
tage of  an  empty  castle  and  town  on  the  March. 
Off  went  Matteo  with  his  men  and  dead  father  in 
the  dark ;  and  hard  by  Este,  in  the  passes  of  the 
hills  he  was  ambushed  and  set  upon  by  a  party  of 
knights  of  the  road,  rentiers,  free  gentlemen  — 
any  name  you  please  for  cut-throats ;  so  in  the 
black  belly  of  the  night  there  was  horrible  silent 
carnage,  men  grunting,  men  squealing,  as  they 
smote  or  were  smitten,  and  never  a  blink  of  star- 
shine  to  lead  the  sword.  Matteo  fought  like  one 
possessed  of  devils,  and,  breaking  his  sword  by 
misadventure,  put  his  dagger  between  his  teeth 
and  went  about  with  his  hands  at  work,  feeling 
for  throats.  He  got  a  hold,  closed  and  fell  with 
his  quarry.  They  rolled  scuffling  and  biting  in 
the  dark,  but  Matteo  had  ten  strengths  in  him, 
what  with  his  old  father  and  new  lordship;  he 
got  his  dagger  out  and  in,  in  and  out  again ; 
a  man's  life  and  a  man's  dying  curse  into  the 
bargain. 

" '  The  blight  of  God  fall  on  and  wither  you,' 
said  he  who  lay  jetting  blood. 

" '  It  was  fair  fighting,'  says  surly  Matteo ;  and 
the  other, 

" '  You  shall  remember  my  curse.' 


no  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

" '  What  name  have  you,  friend  ? '  says  Matteo 
again. 

"  He  said,  '  Pierluigi  Visdomini  of  Peschiera,' 
and  gaped,  and  so  died.  Matteo  knew  very  well 
what  he  had  done,  to  wit,  slain  the  son  of  his  old 
master,  the  brother  of  his  love. 

"  It  turned  the  world  dun-colour  for  him. 
Dreadfully  as  he  stalked  about  it  afterwards,  he 
was  most  dreadful  in  Castelfranco,  as  they  report 
—  and  reasonably,  for  that  Castelfranco  is  not  so 
big  as  the  world,  and  a  sulky  fellow  in  the  larger 
room  might  be  a  Minotaur  shut  up  in  that  little 
walled  town.  Certain  it  is  that  his  mortification 
had  one  issue.  He  took  the  field  again,  and  did 
so  terribly  that  all  Italy  knew  his  name  in  a  year. 
The  Meagre  Wolf  they  called  him  —  II  Lupo 
Magro  —  and  far  and  wide  citizens  of  walled  cities 
trembled  at  the  words.  At  the  siege  of  Padua  he 
broke  his  arm  under  the  ruin  of  a  bridge,  and  so 
missed  the  sack  of  the  town  which  followed  hard 
upon  his  misfortune.  But  the  Paduans  very  well 
knew  who  their  conqueror  was,  and  brought  him 
the  keys  of  their  citadel  as  he  lay  sick  at  a  con- 
vent. And  who  do  you  suppose  came  to  him 
kneeling  with  those  who  bore  the  keys  ?  Who 
else  but  his  half-brother,  snug  Master  Luca,  with 
his  face  of  a  holy  burning  Seraphim  and  his  sleek 
limbs  of  a  girl  ?  That  was  the  young  man,  ladies 
and  good  sirs,  upon  the  word  of  an  untirable 
soldier. 

"  This  Luca  Costanza  was  by  now  the  prettiest 
soft  rogue  of  a  friar  you  ever  saw ;  to  the  beguil- 
ing eye  was  superadded  the  silky  tongue.  Three 
years  had  wrought  their  magic  upon  him.  I  tell 


CAPTAIN   SALOMON   BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE     in 

you,  he  were  a  bold  man  who  would  set  wife  or 
daughter  on  the  further  side  of  the  grille  over 
against  him.  Parts  he  had  for  the  trade :  he  could 
sing,  he  could  make  canzonetas  in  the  fashion  of 
Lombardy  and  of  Languedoc ;  his  was  the  supple 
brain,  and  his  the  calculating  head-piece,  all  en- 
cased in  peach-bloom  and  gold.  Now,  when  he 
saw  his  grim  brother  Matteo,  this  chamberer 
became  dewy  with  tears  (which  meant  very  little 
to  him);  but  when  Matteo  saw  him  he  sobbed 
in  his  throat,  boy  once  more,  and  '  Oh,  come,  oh, 
come,  my  brother ! '  says  he ;  and  had  him  in  his 
arms  in  a  trice.  Before  you  could  count  twice  five, 
there  was  Luca  sitting  on  the  bed,  listening  to 
Matteo's  words  pouring  out  of  him  like  a  flooded 
mill-dam.  What  did  he  hear  ?  Do  you  ask  that, 
my  masters?  Turn  to  the  beauteous  ladies  by 
side  of  you :  they  will  let  you  know.  He  spoke 
Emilia,  Emilia,  Emilia,  and  again  Emilia,  Emilia 
Visdomini.  There  was  no  other  woman  in  the 
world  for  him ;  so  Luca,  for  whom  the  world  held 
many  women,  was  given  to  understand.  Then 
the  grief  was  revealed,  since  grief  there  was. 
Emilia  could  never  be  his.  '  God  of  Love,  why 
not  then  ? '  cries  Luca  in  amaze. 

" '  I  have  slain  her  brother  in  the  dark,'  says 
Matteo,  hollow-voiced,  '  and  he  called  down  upon 
me  the  blight  of  God.' 

"  '  Is  that  all  ? '  says  Luca ;  and  Matteo, 

"  *  What  more  would  you  have  ? ' 

"  Luca  put  a  warm  hand  on  his  brother's  shoul- 
der. '  For  much  less  than  that,'  says  he,  '  have 
maidens  been  unmaidened.' 

" '  How  now  ? '  says  Matteo. 


H2  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

" «  Why,  thus,'  his  brother  replied.  '  The  old 
Visdomini  will  take  it  amiss,  I  suppose  ? ' 

"  '  Alack  ! '  says  Matteo. 

"  *  By  no  means,'  quoth  Luca.  '  You  offer 
Castelfranco  and  your  hand  for  the  girl.  He 
cries  for  a  sword  and  shuts  her  in  her  chamber. 
What  shall  she  feed  on  in  there,  do  you  think,  if 
not  your  image  ?  She  will  grow  fat  on  that.  So 
women  nourish  their  hearts.  And  so  fathers  drive 
their  girls  into  their  enemies'  arms.  Leave  it  all 
to  me,  Matt,'  says  this  Luca.  Matteo  kissed 
him. 

"  Thus  it  was  accorded  between  them,  that  Luca 
should  go  to  ask  the  hand  of  Miss  for  his  brother 
Matthceus,  Dominus  de  Castelfranco.  And  he 
was  to  tell  the  whole  truth. —  How  the  said  Mat- 
thaeus  by  misadventure  had  killed  Pierluigi  Vis- 
domini in  dark  battle,  midnight  battle,  having  been 
attacked  by  the  dead  man  as  he  was  bearing  his 
own  father's  body  to  the  burying.  This  notwith- 
standing, the  said  Matthaeus  did  earnestly  pretend 
for  the  hand  of  Donna  Emilia,  and  without  a  dower. 
The  Visdomini  were  bare  to  the  bones  of  money 
and  lands;  the  dowry-quittance  should  tempt  them, 
Luca  judged:  not  so  Matteo.  But  Matteo,  in 
truth,  did  so  urgently  long  for  sight  or  touch  of 
his  little  Emilia  that  he  sent  his  brother  against 
his  own  hopes — that  thus,  at  second-hand,  he  him- 
self might  seem  to  deal  with  her.  '  Take  her,  dear 
Luca,  this  ring,'  said  the  honest  lover,  '  and  give 
her  one  message  from  me ;  one  and  no  more.' 

" '  And  what  is  your  message,  brother  ? '  says 
Luca  the  debonair. 

" '  Tell  her  the  ring  is  from  the  True  to  the 


CAPTAIN   SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    113 

Most  True,'  says  Matteo ;  and  Luca  puts  his 
tongue  into  his  cheek. 

"  Off  he  set,  howsoever,  flushed  with  safe-con- 
ducts and  other  letters  commendatory  from  the 
Venetian  power.  Arrived  at  Peschiera,  he  found 
old  Pierfrancesco,  he  found  his  bony  wife  ;  but  he 
found  no  fresh  Emilia  at  all.  She  was  not  there ; 
he  learned  from  the  women  that  she  had  taken 
service  with  Madonna  Buonconforta,  wife  to  Ber- 
nabb  of  Milan.  *  Soho ! '  says  this  Luca  to  him- 
self, '  Milan  will  suit  me  very  well.  It  is  a  great 
city,  and  Messer  Bernabb  a  munificent  master 
for  a  baseborn  lad  of  parts.  I  will  go  to  Milan.' 
But  first  he  boards  Master  Pierfrancesco  with  his 
tidings  of  death  in  battle  and  offers  of  marriage 
without  a  dowry.  Pierfrancesco  listens  to  what 
he  has  to  say,  and  listens  to  the  end ;  then  he  ups 
and  shows  Luca  a  long  sword.  '  Do  you  see  this, 
Master  Friar  ? '  he  says.  '  Certainly  I  do,'  says 
Luca. 

" '  I  would  spit  their  two  hearts  on  this  blade,' 
says  the  old  man,  biting  his  words,  '  and  see  them 
roast  at  my  kitchen  fires,  before  I  allowed  a 
Visdomini  to  meet  a  Costanza  unarmed.  Now, 
go  to  your  master  the  devil.'  What  about  this, 
sirs  and  noble  ladies  ?  Did  he  give  the  forward 
cut?  There  is  none  more  forward,  by  Cock. 
Where  goes  our  Luca  but  to  Milan  with  all  his 
letters  commendatory  in  his  vest?  There  he 
wormed  his  way  in,  there  he  saw,  and  there  had 
speech  with  the  young  Emilia,  grown  to  be  a 
beauty  of  so  willowy,  so  slow-smiling,  so  enslav- 
ing a  kind  that,  if  he  played  a  villainy  upon  his 
brother,  I  know  not  who  is  to  be  blamed.  As 


ii4  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

to  that,  wait  for  a  little.  He  had  his  own  game 
to  play  first,  and  very  well  he  played  it.  I  knew 
Messer  Bernabb  Visconti  well  enough,  a  puissant 
and  glittering  lord,  who  thought  like  lightning 
and  burned  up  all  Lombardy  before  he  had  done 
with  it.  He  was  born  a  soldier  and  lived  a 
tyrant,  and  died  a  victim  to  his  own  pleasures. 
Very  passably  indeed  he  liked  handsome  youths 
and  handsome  women.  So  he  fancied  Donna 
Emilia,  stroked  her,  called  her  his  Madonnetta ; 
and  so  he  fancied  the  beauteous  Luca  Costanza 
and  made  him  prime  favourite  in  the  great  Court 
of  Milan  —  the  greatest  Court,  but  one,  these  ex- 
perienced eyes  of  mine  have  ever  looked  upon,  and 
contemned.  In  a  few  months  Luca  Costanza  had 
Milan  under  his  thumb  ;  and  then,  waxing  fat,  as 
the  way  is,  he  began  to  kick,  having  scriptural 
precedent,  I  believe.  In  this  wanton  humour  he 
looked  upon  Emilia  with  favour,  with  a  half-shut 
eye  (as  it  were) ;  and  she  looked  upon  him  as  on 
one  with  whom  she  must  reckon  if  she  was  to 
better  herself  in  the  Court.  Presently,  after  a  little, 
Luca  gets  her  alone,  whips  out  the  ring  he  had 
in  charge,  and  — '  Yours,  Madonna,'  he  says. 
'  Why,'  says  she,  *  who  gives  me  a  ring  ? ' 

" '  One  who  calls  himself  The  True,'  says  Luca, 
with  a  half  sigh. 

"  She  blushed  to  hear  him,  thinking  he  so  styled 
himself ;  and  then  says  she,  '  But  what  has  The 
True  to  say  to  me  ? ' 

" '  Oh,  pretty  rogue,'  says  Luca  to  himself, 
'  mighty  little,  I  fancy.'  But  aloud  he  said,  '  The 
True  sends  the  ring  to  The  Most  True,'  and 
watched  her  like  a  cat.  She  went  all  white  to  the 


CAPTAIN   SALOMON   BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    115 

lips,  and  her  eyes  darted  at  him,  and  about  him, 
and  away.  '  Matteo  sent  it,'  she  says  in  a  whisper. 
'  That  is  his  name,'  says  Luca.  *  And  what  is  Mat- 
teo to  you,  good  Friar  ? '  she  asks  him.  '  Oh,  an 
acquaintance  of  mine  of  old  standing,'  says  Master 
Luca.  *  He  slew  unwittingly  your  brother  Pier- 
luigi,  and  your  father  says  that  both  you  and  he 
shall  die  before  you  meet  each  other  again.  But, 
notwithstanding,  Matteo  sends  you  this  ring.' 
And  then  he  set  a  watch  upon  her,  and  saw  her 
shiver  and  shake,  and  wring  her  pretty  hands. 

"  By  this  conduct  she  betrayed  him  her  mind. 
Not  Matteo  she  loved,  but  a  dim  figure  of  Matteo 
four  years  dead.  Not  Matteo  she  loved ;  but  she 
feared  him.  The  very  first  thing  she  said,  with 
great  haunted  eyes  and  mouth  woe-begone,  was 
this  — '  Will  he  come  to  fetch  me,  do  you  think  ? ' 
'  Like  enough,'  says  Luca,  shortly,  and  she  began 
to  cry  and  rock  herself  about.  I  assure  you  a 
handsome  girl  looks  well  in  this  situation.  Grief 
relaxes  her,  she  is  melting,  ready  for  the  moulding 
hand ;  but  you  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  I  cannot 
blame  Luca  for  doing  as  he  did ;  it  were  monstrous 
that  women  should  weep  and  not  be  comforted ; 
and  how  comfort  her  against  what  she  fears  but  by 
telling  her  to  have  no  fear,  for  that  which  she  fears 
will  not  come  to  pass  ?  So  Luca  did ;  and  every 
day  she  sought  him  out  with  fears,  and  every  day 
he  showed  her  how  no  fear  should  be.  Or  if  she 
went  not  to  him  he  must  needs  go  to  her,  and 
whether  she  feared  or  not,  beseech  her  not  to  fear. 
They  used  to  meet  in  a  little  church  I  know  very 
well;  Sant'  Onofrio  it  is  called.  There  in  the 
dusk  those  two  comforted  each  other,  and  there 


n6  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

or  elsewhere  Luca  betrayed  his  brother  and  gave 
Emilia  a  living  image  instead  of  a  dead  one  to 
enshrine  in  her  heart.  All  this  was  a  matter  of 
six  months,  which  time  had  sufficed  Matteo  Cos- 
tanza  to  take  the  field  again,  and  drive  the  Milan- 
ese out  of  the  Venetian  March. 

"As  an  end  of  such  exploits  on  his  part,  my 
master  Sir  John  Hawkwood  came  home  to  Milan 
and  saw  the  Lord  Bernabc-  every  day.  '  My  lord,' 
said  he,  '  you  shall  not  blame  me  that  affairs  have 
gone  counter.  I  and  my  company  have  done  our 
best,  but  I  cannot  drive  sheep  without  a  dog. 
Now,  your  Milanese  are  sheep,  my  lord,  and  the 
dog  is  kennelled  in  Venice ;  at  Castelfranco  you 
shall  find  him.' 

"  I  will  buy  this  Venetian  dog  for  you,  John,' 
says  Bernabb,  '  if  you  will  fetch  him  home.' 

" '  That  I  can  do,  my  lord,'  says  Sir  John. 

" '  As  how  ? '  asks  Lord  Bernabb. 

" '  Report  has  it,'  said  Sir  John,  my  master, 
'  that  the  young  wolf  Costanza  has  set  his  heart 
upon  a  lamb  of  your  fold.  You  must  throw  him 
a  sop  if  you  want  him.' 

" '  Where  is  the  lamb  ?  Where  is  the  sop  ? ' 
cries  Lord  Bernabb. 

"  Sir  John  told  him  that  Donna  Emilia  was  the 
price.  '  And  a  good  price  too,'  says  Bernabb,  who 
had  fancied  her  himself  —  in  all  honour,  mind  you. 
However,  he  agreed  with  my  master,  because 
necessity  was  outside  the  door. 

"  Now,  the  term  of  this  was  set,  that  Sir  John 
should  win  over  Matteo  Costanza  by  means  of 
Donna  Emilia.  Well  and  good.  There  was  a 
truce  of  forty  days  declared,  in  which  time  my 


CAPTAIN   SALOMON  BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    117 

master  sought  out  his  man  and  opened  the  mat- 
ter. '  By  God,  I  will  say  nothing  to  it,'  said 
Matteo.  '  I  will  have  her  with  clean  hands,'  says 
he.  *  What  might  that  mean  ? '  asked  him  Sir 
John.  '  Why,'  says  Matteo,  '  I  have  slain  her 
brother  in  a  fair  fight,  and  I  fear  that  her  father 
may  take  it  amiss.  Now  I  will  either  have  her 
from  him  by  arms,  or  from  his  open  hands  —  one 
or  the  other ;  but  not  by  purchase  from  that  thief 
of  Milan,  your  master.' 

" '  Well,'  said  Sir  John,  *  if  I  cannot  move 
you ' 

" '  You  might  as  easily  move  Monte  Rosa,'  says 
Matteo  Costanza.  What !  But  a  fine  young  man, 
I  call  him. 

"  My  master,  Sir  John,  rode  away  from  Castel- 
franco  all  in  a  pother ;  but  he  must  needs  report 
to  my  lord  Bernabb  how  he  had  sped.  '  A  proud 
cock  indeed ! '  quoth  Bernabb.  '  Let  me  have 
speech  with  my  friend  Visdomini.'  Now,  old 
Visdomini,  much  as  he  loved  his  blood,  loved  his 
country  more.  '  Milan  has  had  my  life  in  her 
hand  long  enough,  and  my  father's  life,  and  my 
son's.  My  lord,  you  shall  have  my  daughter's 
since  you  need  it.  Give  her  to  young  Costanza, 
if  it  must  be ;  but  let  Milan  prevail,  Amen  ! '  So 
he  said,  and  Bernabb  Visconti  departed  very  well 
pleased. 

"  Thus  they  won  over  Matteo  Costanza  to  sell 
his  nation  and  his  master  for  the  sake  of  a  girl's 
meek  smile.  But  there  was  mighty  little  smiling 
in  the  Church  of  Sant'  Onofrio,  I  promise  you, 
when  Emilia  went  to  be  comforted,  and  Luca 
Costanza  to  give  comfort. 


u8  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  By  this  time  Donna  Emilia  needed  more  com- 
fort than  Luca  had  to  spare,  who  wanted  a  deal 
himself.  '.  Here  is  my  brother  coming  for  his 
wife,'  thought  he,  '  to  find  her  as  good  as  wife 
already,  and  better  than  many  wives  are.  Lord 
my  Saviour,  what  shall  I  do  ? '  The  truth  was 
that  Matteo,  when  he  came,  must  find  her  the 
mother  of  a  boy. 

"  There  was  no  getting  out  of  that ;  and  here 
you  see  the  pretty  quandary  in  which  our  Luca 
saw  himself.  The  girl  was  his  altogether  at  that 
season,  adoring  in  him  the  father  of  her  child. 
By  that  only  she  was  strong  to  face  Matteo  him- 
self, whose  image,  much  as  she  feared  it  by  habit, 
was  now  grown  blurred  and  faint,  washed  out 
(maybe)  by  Luca's  love  balsams.  So  when  she 
heard  of  what  had  been  devised,  how  Matteo  was 
to  come  in  and  help  Milan,  how  his  price  was 
herself,  and  the  seller  her  father — she  laughed 
comfortably,  and  put  up  her  face  for  Luca  to 
kiss  it.  *  Too  late,  too  late,  this  poor  Matteo ! ' 
she  said ;  and  '  Too  late  indeed,'  said  Luca. 
But  he  kissed  her  face,  turning  over  in  his  mind 
how  he  could  get  out  of  the  quag  in  which  he 
was  stuck.  '  What  shall  you  say  to  your  father, 
chuck  ? '  asks  he ;  and  she  says  that  she  will 
excuse  herself  from  this  marriage.  '  Never  do 
that,  my  soul ! '  cries  Master  Luca ;  *  but  agree, 
agree;  and  leave  me  to  find  a  way  out.'  She 
laughed.  'You  little  know  Matteo  Costanza,' 
she  says,  '  if  you  think  him  satisfied  with  agree- 
ment.' '  Let  me  deal  with  him,  for  all  that,'  says 
Luca. 

" '  No,  no,  my  King-Cupid,'  cries  she.     '  He  is 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON   BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    119 

a  good  knight.  I  will  tell  him  the  truth  and  ask 
his  pardon.  That  is  the  way  of  honour.' 

"  *  It  is  the  way  of  death,  Emilia,'  says  Luca, 
very  white. 

" '  Fear  not  for  me,  dear  love,'  says  Emilia. 

" '  I  do  not,'  says  Luca,  '  but  by  my  soul,  I  fear 
for  myself.' 

"  She  looked  strangely  at  him,  not  perceiving 
all  his  drift.  '  Heaven  and  earth ! '  says  she  — 
and  no  more.  Then  Luca  told  her,  what  she 
had  never  known  before,  that  Matteo  was  his 
brother  of  the  half-blood ;  and  she  reeled  where 
she  stood.  He  went  on  to  use  those  wits  which 
he  had  in  abundance,  and  those  welling  founts  of 
tears.  He  knelt,  he  clasped,  he  humbled  himself, 
dropping  tears  like  thunder  showers  all  the  time. 
He  was  (said  he)  a  villain,  a  black  thief,  a  white 
thief,  a  Judas,  a  Pontius  Pilate,  a  miserable, 
aching,  groaning,  longing  lover.  He  was  a  father 
who  could  never  look  his  child  in  the  face,  he 
was  a  lover  whose  mistress  would  bid  him  to 
death  —  and  God  knew,  he  said,  how  willingly  he 
would  go  to  death  for  her  sake :  but  I  say  that 
God  knew  nothing  of  the  sort.  In  truth,  he 
threw  himself  so  far  below  her  that  Emilia,  who 
had  a  soft  heart,  was  closely  touched,  and  spent 
herself  to  raise  him  up  again,  if  it  might  be  only 
a  part  of  the  way.  She  could  not  find  it  in  her 
heart  to  condemn  a  man  who  had  done  all  these 
villainies  for  the  sake  of  her  love.  A  coward  she 
knew  him,  but  he  loved  her ;  a  coward  he  was, 
but  she  loved  him.  What  she  agreed  to  do  was 
this,  in  the  end.  She  would  confess  to  Matteo 
the  bitter  truth,  but  would  cast  no  paternity  on 


120  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Luca.  Luca  swore  her,  with  a  hand  on  the 
five  crosses  on  the  altar-slab,  one  touched  after 
another;  and  had  to  be  content  with  that.  So 
they  waited,  miserable  sinners  that  they  were, 
with  love  turned  sour  in  their  mouths ;  and  the 
child  was  born  before  ever  Matteo  came-  to 
Milan. 

"  He  came  in  his  time,  and  rode  in  by  the  Gate 
of  the  Sun,  like  a  young  Roman  Consul  come 
to  view  his  province.  Messer  Bernabb  with  his 
brothers  and  his  base  brother  met  him  at  the 
Castle ;  they  made  as  much  of  him  as  he  would 
allow,  but  this  was  very  little:  Matteo  had  a 
short  way.  He  signed  the  treaties,  he  sold  him- 
self with  few  words  spoken ;  then  says  he,  turn- 
ing curtly  on  Messer  Bernabb,  '  Let  me  see 
Pierfrancesco  Visdomini  and  Madonna  Emilia.' 
This  was  done.  When  he  saw  old  Pierfrancesco 
he  knelt  down  on  the  flags  and  kissed  his  foot, 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  condescended  to 
any  but  his  Saviour,  you  may  well  believe.  '  Get 
up,  Costanza,'  says  Visdomini.  '  Not  so,  sir,'  he 
replies,  'till  I  have  your  forgiveness.'  Old  Vis- 
domini sat  down.  '  Tell  me  the  truth  from  the 
beginning,'  he  says,  'and  I  shall  believe  you.' 
Kneeling  where  he  was  Matteo  tells  him  the  tale. 
At  the  end  Pierfrancesco  freely  forgives  him  and 
bestows,  with  an  open  heart,  his  daughter  upon 
the  slayer  of  his  son.  '  Now,'  says  Matteo,  leap- 
ing to  his  feet,  'let  me  have  the  price  of  my 
renunciation.'  They  take  him  in  to  Emilia ;  and 
whether  she  held  her  mad  heart  or  not,  whether 
her  lips  were  grey,  whether  there  was  panic-fear 
alight  in  her  blank  eyes,  whether  she  was  cold- 


CAPTAIN   SALOMON   BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    121 

footed,  hot-headed,  dizzy  and  sick  to  death  —  I 
leave  you  to  judge. 

" '  My  love,  my  love,  I  have  come ! '  he  says 
gulping. 

" '  Alas,'  says  she  in  a  whisper. 

"  *  I  see  my  glorious  Saint ! '  he  cries. 

"  She  says,  '  You  see  ruin,'  and  fell  to  his  feet, 
and  held  to  them  fast. 

"  This  he  could  not  allow,  so  stooped  to  raise 
her.  Together  they  tussled  on  the  floor,  she  to 
stay  where  she  was,  he  to  lift  her  up.  So  as  they 
strove  together  he  felt  a  new  master  and  she  a 
new,  more  dreadful  fear.  Up  she  got  and  fled  to 
the  wall;  he  followed  after,  lowering  and  angry 
by  now. 

" '  What  does  this  mean,  my  love  ? '  says  he, 
panting. 

" '  O  misery,  misery,  my  ruin,'  says  she.  He 
knew  it  all  by  now,  and  she  saw  him  blind  and 
possessed,  fumbling  for  his  dagger.  She  runs  to 
him  with  her  vest  pulled  open,  her  white  bosom 
bare.  '  Kill,  kill,  kill !  '  she  cried,  and  awaits  the 
red  harvest.  But  Matteo  covered  his  eyes.  '  O 
God,  a  mother's  breast ! '  he  said,  and  shuddered 
like  a  man  in  a  fever.  The  holiness  of  her  estate 
saved  her  for  worse  things.  Matteo  was  till  then 
an  honest  man.  But  here  is  a  sorrowful  pass 
for  a  young  lover,  whose  only  fault  was  the  vehe- 
mence of  his  love. 

"  Now,  this  poor  Emilia,  also,  so  far  as  she  could 
be,  was  an  honest  woman.  When  she  saw  that 
Matteo  meant  murder  still,  though  not  of  her,  no 
fury  or  grim  silence  of  his  could  drag  out  of  her 
the  name  of  her  undoer.  Her  spirit  was  as  great 


122  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

by  now  as  is  that  of  any  mothering  thing  in  the 
world.  Set  dogs  to  worry  a  lambing  ewe,  or  a 
littering  cat,  or  a  broody  bird :  the  piety  of  the 
blessed  creature  outvails  the  lust  of  the  foe.  So 
here.  Emilia,  a  double  mother,  defended  her 
babe,  and  her  babe's  father.  Matteo  left  her  with 
these  words  — '  You  are  mine.  I  have  bought 
you  with  the  price  of  treachery.  I  will  never  let 
you  go.  This  is  your  punishment  and  mine,  that 
I  shall  see  you  every  hour  of  the  day  and  know 
myself  fool  and  knave,  and  you  shall  see  me,  and 
read  in  my  face  what  indeed  you  are.  Stay  you 
here  till  I  come  for  you.' 

"  He  went  out  to  seek  his  twittering  brother, 
and  when  he  found  him  the  strong  sluices  where- 
with he  had  dammed  up  his  sorrow  were  cast 
down,  and  the  floods  leaped  out.  Matteo  fell 
weeping  upon  Luca's  neck,  and  so  remained 
long  time.  But  Luca  could  have  laughed  and 
chirped  for  thankfulness. 

"  '  Oh,  brother,'  says  Matteo,  with  terrible  sobs 
which  shook  him  to  pieces,  '  Oh,  brother,  could 
you  not  have  saved  her  for  me  ? ' . 

" '  Alas,'  says  Master  Luca,  '  I  should  have  saved 
her  if  I  could.' 

" '  I  know  it  well,'  says  Matteo,  '  but  not  even 
a  brother's  love  can  keep  wretched  women  from 
folly  and  sin.' 

" '  That  is  so  indeed,  brother,'  says  Luca, 
very  demure.  Then  Matteo's  eyes  began  to 
burn. 

" '  I  conjure  you,  Luca,  by  our  father's  good 
name,  tell  me  who  was  the  thief  of  my  honour,' 
he  says ;  and  Luca  fenced  with  him. 


CAPTAIN   SALOMON   BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    123 

" '  I  know  not  indeed,  I  know  not  indeed,'  says 
he.  Matteo  looked  at  him. 

"  '  Where  have  your  eyes  been,  brother,  all  this 
while  ? '  he  asks  him.  Luca  began  to  stammer, 
confused. 

" '  I  see,'  says  Matteo,  '  that  you  do  know  his 
name,  but  will  not  tell  it.  I  think  you  may  have 
a  reason  for  that.  I  think  so  indeed.'  It  was 
not  that  he  began  to  sniff  at  his  brother's  real 
offence ;  but  it  was  so  that  Luca  thought  he  had. 
That  gave  him  a  rare  fright. 

" '  Oh,  Matteo,'  he  said  quaking,  '  this  is  a 
wicked  Court,  where  the  greatest  in  authority 
find  the  greatest  scope  for  sin.' 

" '  Proceed,'  said  Matteo. 

" '  Alack,'  cried  Luca,  '  must  I  bear  witness 
against  my  neighbour  ? ' 

" '  There  is  no  reason  against  it,'  says  Matteo, 
stern  as  death.  '  The  Scripture  saith,  Thou  shalt 
not  bear  false  witness.  Look  to  it  that  you  do 
not' 

" '  I  dare  not  do  it,  I  dare  not  speak  —  I  fear 
the  power  of  Milan ! '  So  said  Luca  in  a  sweat 
of  fear.  He  saw  murder  in  Matteo 's  bright  eyes. 

" '  Fear  nothing,  Luca,'  says  Matteo,  with  his 
dagger  free,  'fear  nothing,  Luca,  but  God  and 
me.'  Luca  caught  his  breath.  '  So,'  says  Matteo, 
'you  will  not?  Then  prepare  yourself.'  Luca 
sees  the  bare  knife  and  shrieks  for  fear.  He  falls 
on  his  knees  — '  Mercy,  have  mercy,  Matteo ! '  he 
whines.  '  I  will  tell  thee  what  to  do.' 

" '  Tell,  then,'  says  Matteo. 

" '  Go,  ask  in  Milan  whether  the  Lord  of  Milan 
loved  not  his  wife's  maid.  Ask  what  he  gave, 


124  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

and  what  called  her.'  Matteo  went  out  to  ask. 
Now,  it  was  true  enough,  as  I  have  told  you,  that 
Messer  Bernabb  had  fancied  Donna  Emilia ;  also 
that  he  had  given  her  a  belt  of  gold  and  enamel 
of  Limoges,  and  called  her,  because  of  her  meek 
beauty,  La  Madonnetta,  which  means  Lady-kin. 

"  All  this  Matteo  gathered  in  Milan  as  easily  as 
boys  get  nuts  in  October.  He  read  it  ten  times 
worse  than  it  was,  because  of  his  own  inflamma- 
tion; he  read  all  the  shameful  fact  into  Messer 
Bernabb's  heart  which,  as  you  know,  lay  nearer 
home.  Monstrously  he  did,  like  a  madman ;  for 
by  this  time  he  was  both  mad  and  a  monster. 
Emilia  he  took  and  Emilia's  child,  and  sent  them 
with  Luca  out  of  Milan  under  escort  to  Castel- 
franco.  He  himself,  then,  with  certain  hired 
assassins  of  his  choosing,  attacked  Messer  Ber- 
nabb at  the  coming  out  of  church  one  morning 
and  stabbed  him  deep  between  the  shoulders. 
Three  times  he  stabbed :  '  This  for  Emilia ;  this 
for  Venice ;  this  for  Costanza ! '  were  his  words 
as  each  time  the  knife  went  to  work.  He  just 
failed  of  killing  his  man;  but  did  fail,  and  so 
drew  down  all  the  enmity  of  Venice,  which  might 
else  have  pardoned  his  first  treachery  for  the 
sake  of  his  second.  In  the  frenzy  that  followed 
he  hacked  a  way  for  himself  out  of  Milan,  and 
gained  the  open  country.  They  pursued  him, 
but  he  had  their  heels  and  gained  his  walled 
town.  There  he  had  space  to  breathe  for  a  little, 
but  not  very  much. 

"  I  think  he  knew  that  his  hour  was  at  hand : 
it  had  been  odd  if  he  did  not.  All  Italy  was  his 
enemy,  within  doors  and  without.  The  Milanese 


CAPTAIN   SALOMON   BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    125 

hated  him  because  he  had  stabbed  their  tyrant, 
the  Venetians  because  he  had  stabbed  not  deep 
enough.  This  brought  Venice  and  Milan  to- 
gether ;  wise  men  make  profit  out  of  the  vagaries 
of  fools.  Luca  hated  him  because  he  feared  him, 
and  Emilia  hated  Luca.  Within  that  strong  house 
of  Castelfranco  all  sat  hushed  in  their  hatred  and 
fear  of  one  another  under  the  shadow  of  Death's 
wings.  They  tell  me  —  those  who  escaped  —  that 
from  dawn  to  dusk,  day  after  day,  no  soul  spoke  a 
word  to  another,  though  they  lived  in  the  common 
hall  and  ate  at  the  common  table.  Whether  Mat- 
teo  had  by  now  suspicion  of  Luca,  I  cannot  tell 
you.  If  he  had  none,  why  did  he  never  speak  with 
him  ?  He  let  none  be  seen  at  any  rate ;  but  Luca 
eyed  him  about  wherever  he  went,  dreading  a  knife 
in  the  back;  and  as  for  Emilia,  she  would  not 
suffer  either  brother  near  the  child.  I  suppose 
Matteo  must  have  guessed  fire  from  this  kind  of 
smoke. 

"  Now  here  I  make  an  end  of  my  tale,  and  in 
this  manner.  The  Venetian  Admiral  led  a  great 
force  up  against  Castelfranco  and  besieged  it  so 
close  that  soon  there  was  nothing  to  eat.  That 
silent  company  of  wretches,  on  a  day,  sat  down  to 
their  board  with  never  a  crumb  of  food  upon  it. 
All  the  noise  in  the  house  was  of  Emilia's  child 
wailing  for  milk,  which  she  could  not  give  him, 
yet  dared  not  ask  of  Matteo.  Nor  could  she  pray 
him  by  ancient  love  that  the  siege  might  end  ;  but 
Heaven's  love  is  more  ancient  than  all,  and  by 
Heaven's  mercy  it  did  end.  Venice  and  Milan 
accorded ;  so  in  the  trenches  about  the  walls 
stalked  Messer  Bernabb  Visconti  and  the  Duke 


126  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

of  Venice,  with  my  master  Sir  John  for  their  com- 
mon friend. 

"  One  night  we  mined  the  eastern  gate  and  got 
in  under  cover  of  dark.  There  was  fighting  in  the 
streets,  one  or  two  houses  fired ;  the  fire  caught, 
and  ringed  the  citadel  with  flame.  Soon  we  got 
the  doors  of  that  stronghold  down,  and  broke 
through,  Messer  Bernabb,  the  Venetian  Admiral, 
Sir  John  Hawkwood  and  your  servant,  with  others. 
By  the  light  of  the  fires  without  we  saw  our  man 
at  bay  in  his  hall.  He  had  the  tressle-tables  thrown 
up  like  breast-works,  himself  behind  ;  and  behind 
him  again  Emilia  white  as  a  ghost,  her  child  in 
her  arms,  and  Luca  the  friar,  rigid  with  the  sick- 
ness of  awful  fear.  We  who  came  in  stopped  at 
the  barriers  to  see  what  were  best  to  do ;  for  we 
wished  no  violence  to  the  poor  girl,  nor  had  any 
grudge  (so  far  as  we  knew)  against  the  friar. 

" '  Are  you  come,  Lord  Bernabb,  for  your  min- 
ion ? '  says  Matteo,  grim  and  cold. 

"  '  I  am  come,  master,  for  you,'  says  my  lord. 

" '  Me  you  shall  have  in  good  time,'  says  Matteo 
again,  'and  make  your  pleasure  of  my  carcase. 
But  if  you  want  her  whom  you  have  made  shame- 
ful, you  shall  come  and  fetch  her.' 

" '  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  wife,  fellow,' 
says  my  lord. 

" '  She  is  not  my  wife,  dog,  thanks  to  you ! ' 
Matteo  thundered,  and  turned  to  the  girl.  '  Emi- 
lia,' says  he,  '  art  thou  mine  or  his  ?  Art  thou 
mine  or  another's  ? '  Her  lips  moved,  but  not  her 
eyes. 

" '  Thine,  O  Matteo,'  she  said  in  a  voice  like  the 
wind  in  dry  reeds. 


CAPTAIN  SALOMON   BRAZENHEAD'S  TALE    127 

"  *  Mine  to  dispose  ? '  says  he. 

"'Yea,'  says  she.  He  laughed  aloud  —  but 
dreadfully. 

"  *  Thus  then  I  dispose  of  mine  own  thing. 
Look  you,  Bernabb,'  he  said,  and  stabbed  her 
deep  in  the  heart. 

"  We  all  fell  back  at  the  horrid  deed :  we  who 
had  seen  so  many,  and  done  them  too,  by  my  soul ! 
So  then  the  frantic  wretch  snatches  up  the  child 
and  takes  a  step  forward. 

" '  I  have  used  my  way  with  my  own,'  says  he. 
'  Now,  Bernabb,  use  yours  with  what  is  yours '  — 
and  he  would  have  thrown  the  child  over  the 
tables  to  my  lord.  But  Luca  Costanza  shrieked 
and  made  to  take  it  from  him,  and  Messer  Ber- 
nabb gave  a  great  horse-laugh.  Matteo  saw  the 
whole  truth  at  last,  and  turning  madly,  cut  his 
brother  down.  Luca  fell  without  a  sound  and 
lay  still :  we  leaped  the  tables.  Matteo  died  fight- 
ing like  a  beast  embayed :  twenty  wounds  were 
found  in  the  front  of  his  body,  all  of  my  own 
counting,  and  some  few  of  my  own  dealing,  if  the 
truth  is  to  be  told  in  this  company. 

"  So  died,  good  friends,  the  right  line  of  this 
honourable  fighting  house  of  Costanza,  doomed 
(as  it  seems)  from  the  beginning.  So  also  died 
that  other  house,  which  loved  or  hated  Costanza 
as  war  or  peace  was  abroad.  For  Costanza  had 
slain  both  Visdomini's  children,  and  Visdomini's 
children  had  cursed  Costanza.  Here  you  have  a 
circle  of  misfortune ;  and  whose  the  beginning  or 
whose  the  first  fault,  let  prophets  and  philosophers 
determine.  This  I  know,  that  if  the  right  line  of 
Costanza  died  out,  the  left  line  held  on.  The 


128 

child  of  Luca  Costanza  and  Emilia  Visdomini 
was  put  in  possession  of  the  fief,  and  grew  to  live 
and  flourish  and  fight  battles  for  Venice.  And 
for  all  I  know  against  it  he  lives  and  fights  them 
to  this  hour. 

"  That  is  the  tale,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead, 
"which  I  singled  out  in  Italy,  when  I  served 
there  under  Sir  John  Hawkwood,  that  tailor's 
boy  who  became  a  great  captain.  Go  to,  I  make 
an  end." 

"  By  the  Lord,  sir,"  said  Master  Richard  Smith, 
"  I  am  not  sorry  for  it." 

But  no  one  else  said  anything  at  all.  Musingly, 
each  occupied  with  his  own  cares,  they  climbed 
the  hill  into  Reigate. 


THE   PRIORESS   OF  AMBRESBURY'S  TALE 


THE   PRIORESS  OF  AMBRESBURY'S  TALE 

THE  departure  of  Captain  Brazenhead  —  for  at 
Reigate  he  took  up  a  more  desperate  enterprise 
than  pilgrimage,  and  sought  rather  the  crown  of 
a  king  than  that  of  martyrdom,  and  Lord  Say's 
head  before  Saint  Thomas's  —  the  Captain's  defec- 
tion, I  say,  lost  Percival  his  protector  and  caused 
Percival  to  lie. 

That  is  a  fair  retort  to  make,  that  he  having 
lied  so  much  already,  another  was  little  odds. 
Yet  the  difficulty  of  lying  is,  not  to  lie,  but  to  be 
believed  when  you  do  lie.  And  how  account 
comfortably  for  the  absence  of  Captain  Brazen- 
head  when  that  warrior  had  gone  to  raise  the 
King's  lieges  in  Kent  against  the  King's  peace  ? 
Percival,  after  much  distress  of  mind,  considered 
that  to  say  the  Captain  had  been  summoned 
to  London  by  the  King  in  Council  was  but  to 
advance  the  truth  a  little ;  for  he  was  pretty  sure 
in  his  own  mind  that  such  would  be  the  fate  of 
his  gallant  friend  and  such  the  fruit  of  his  labour. 
He  did  not  scruple,  therefore,  to  declare  this  fore- 
cast of  his  as  a  fact  to  the  Prioress.  Whether 
she  believed  it  or  not  he  had  no  means  of  telling. 
The  Prioress  had  a  baffling  trick  of  gravity  about 
her.  Master  Smith  the  shipman  believed  it, 
but  in  too  literal  a  sense.  "Justice  is  tardy  in 


i32  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

this  world,"  said  he ;  "  but  if  ever  a  rope  flacked 
hungry  for  a  rogue,  so  flacks  that  rope  in  the 
hands  of  the  King  and  Council  for  old  Brazen- 
guts." 

Percival  grew  red  under  the  eyes :  "  You  had 
better  repeat  that  to  me  when  we  are  alone,"  he 
said  privily  to  the  manner;  to  which  Master 
Smith  replied  with  a  meaning  smile,  that  were  he 
alone  with  the  young  man  he  should  not  waste 
time  in  that  manner.  Percival's  eyes  grew  very 
misty ;  and  Master  Smith  went  on  explosively  to 
debate  whether  a  piping  voice  ever  took  a  youth 
further  than  a  lady's  footstool  ?  or  whether,  indeed, 
a  youth  (properly  so  called)  could  have  such  a 
voice  ?  "  I  would  see  a  beard  on  that  chin  of 
thine  before  I  trusted  thee  for  a  game-poult,"  he 
said;  "ah,  and  thy  throstle-note  should  turn  to 
croaking.  My  lady  of  Ambresbury  trusts  to  sleek 
looks;  but  I  know  what  I  know." 

"  What  do  you  know,  sir  ? "  says  Percival  furi- 
ously. "  What  the  devil  do  you  know  ? " 

"  I  know  my  way  about  Gloucester,"  replied  the 
Shipman ;  "  and  if  I  saw  thee  not  kirtled  and 
busked  in  Hare  Lane,  hemming  a  shift  on  the  door- 
step of  thy  mother's  house,  mistress,  then  I  have 
never  sailed  the  Severn  River,  and  never  brought 
a  pink  up  Hempstead  Creek.  If  I  am  wrong,  say 
so ;  but  I  knew  again  that  long  nose  and  button 
mouth  of  thine  the  moment  I  clapped  eyes  on 
thee  at  Winton." 

"  I  see  no  reason  to  deny  that  I  was  born  in 
Glo'ster,"  said  Percival,  "  nor  have  I  ever  denied 
that  my  father's  house  was  in  Hare  Lane.  But 
what  is  this  to  the  purpose  ? " 


THE  PRIORESS'  TALE 


133 


"  Thus  much,"  replied  the  Shipman,  "  that  I 
cannot  call  to  mind  any  of  thy  name  in  the  city. 
Thrustwood  is  no  Glo'ster  name  to  my  knowledge. 
Nor  do  I  understand  how  one  of  thy  honest  fame 
(as  I  first  knew  thee)  should  go  trampling  after 
Holy  Thomas  in  a  page's  breeches,  calling  thyself 
nephew  (nephew,  ha!)  to  a  wicked  old  tosspot 
mercenary." 

The  conversation,  neither  encouraged  by  Per- 
cival  nor  by  Smith's  wife,  stayed  here;  and  the 
Scrivener  broke  in  by  proposing  another  tale  from 
one  of  the  company,  adding  that  he  had  just  re- 
membered an  incident  in  the  life  of  the  great 
general  Agricola,  so  remarkable  that  he  felt  sure 
of  his  ground  in  offering  to  relate  it.  But  the 
prerogative  of  choice  lay  still  with  the  Prioress, 
who  (saying  that  she  could  not  select)  made  Per- 
cival  her  deputy.  Percival  selected  the  Prioress, 
with  a  discretion  to  which  I  cannot  think  Master 
Smith  had  clone  full  justice.  She  began  at  once. 
"  If  I  rightly  caught  a  chance  inquiry  of  this  hon- 
est man's,"  she  said,  half  turning  to  the  shipman, 
"he  asked,  Whether  a  young  lad's  voice  ever 
took  him  far  ?  " 

"  I  did  that,  please  your  ladyship,"  said  Smith ; 
"but  I  meant  to  hit  another  mark  altogether  — 
doubting  the  lad  more  than  the  voice." 

"  This  assures  me,"  continued  the  Prioress, 
"  that  his  knowledge  of  spiritual  matters  is  not  on 
a  level  with  his  seamanship,  and  again  that  he  is 
not  acquainted  with  the  tale  I  shall  now  rehearse. 
When  he  has  heard  it,  I  believe  he  will  acknow- 
ledge his  question  to  be  answered.  For  we  seem 
to  stand  upon  this  earth,"  she  went  on,  "close- 


i34  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

edged  between  heaven  and  hell ;  and  sometimes 
God  deigns  to  reveal  the  great  deeps  of  know- 
ledge out  of  the  mouths  of  babes.  To  make  haste, 
as  many  do,  to  call  Miracle !  may  be  to  vaunt  our 
experience  at  the  cost  of  the  Almighty's ;  but  that 
is  another  sort  of  boaster  who  says,  Law  of  Na- 
ture !  when  God  suffers  a  poet  to  be  enlarged.  In 
this  old  affair  of  Plessy,  which  bears  points  of  re- 
semblance to  those  which  gave  little  Saint  Hugh 
to  Lincoln,  and  to  Norwich  little  Saint  William, 
I  neither  hint  the  miraculous  nor  the  natural ; 
but  exhibit  it  rather  as  it  comes,  with  the  marks 
of  time  upon  its  back.  Let  others  reason,  not  me." 

HERE  BEGINS  THE  TALE  OF  SAINT  GERVASE 
OF  PLESSY* 

"  When,"  said  the  Prioress,  "  they  asked  the 
priest  of  Saint  Michael-below-Bridge  what  had 
become  of  the  boy  Gervase,  he  said  '  God  hath 
him  in  hand ; '  but  this  by  no  means  satisfied  his 
mother,  whose  hands  were  emptied.  So  at  high 
noon,  when  the  Lord  of  Plessy,  Roger  Monther- 
mer,  came  riding  in  to  hold  a  justice-seat,  the  man 
and  woman,  parents  of  the  boy,  stood  before  him 
in  hall  —  the  woman  very  pinched  in  the  face  — 
and  asked  a  judgment  of  the  matter. 

"  Said  Monthermer,  stroking  the  knops  of  his 
chair,  '  Recount  your  matter.  I  cannot  judge 
causes  in  the  dark.' 

"  The  woman  began  with  a  wail :  '  So  God 
judge  you,  Monthermer,  if  you  miss  the  mark ! 
My  Gervase,  my  pretty  boy,  my  lamb,  my  first- 
born, is  gone  in  his  flower;  cut  down,  torn  away; 

*  Copyright,  1900,  by  Maurice  Hewlett. 


THE  PRIORESS'  TALE  135 

and  my  eyes  bleed  to  look  for  him  !  So  beautiful 
a  child !  So  likely  a  boy !  So  hopeful  to  be  a 
youth!'  —  thus  she  repined. 

"  Monthermer  says,  '  Shut  that  woman's  mouth. 
Let  me  hear  the  man  speak.'  So  they  put  the 
woman's  apron  over  her  head,  and  she  went  on 
querulous  behind  it. 

" '  My  lord,'  says  the  father,  a  much  respected 
man,  who  kept  the  quay  below  Lene  Bridge,  '  this 
is  the  case  so  far  as  we  know  it.  My  son  Gervase 
was  playing  with  his  schoolmates  at  half  of  noon 
the  day  before  yesterday ;  at  full  noon  he  was  not. 
At  a  quarter  of  noon,  as  some  report,  a  woman 
stood  in  the  kennel  by  the  Pied  Friar's  gate ;  a 
dark  woman,  red-hooded,  ruddy,  with  a  merry  eye. 
Says  she  to  my  boy,  "  Gervase,  I  have  sweetmeats 
in  my  pocket ;  "  and  he  replied,  "  Mistress,  I  have 
none  in  mine."  Then  she,  "  Put  thy  hand  in  my 
pocket,  Gervase,  and  what  thou  findest  take." 
Thus  laughing  he  did,  but  soon  pulled  his  hand 
out  again,  empty  to  all  appearance.  They  say  that 
he  put  his  fingers  in  his  mouth  and  sucked  them. 
At  the  prick  of  noon,  I  tell  you,  he  was  gone,  and 
so  was  the  woman.' 

" '  How  old  is  Gervase  ? '  asked  Monthermer, 
after  a  little.  He  is  told,  of  fourteen  years. 

" '  What  manner  of  a  boy  ? ' 

" '  My  lord,'  says  the  father,  '  he  is  a  fine  open- 
faced  boy,  not  too  saucy ;  indeed,  a  modest,  good 
boy,  but  sharp,  and  full  of  tricks  among  his  mates. 
Dark-skinned  he  is,  like  myself,  and  black  in  the 
poll  as  I  am,  but  grey-eyed  after  the  fashion  of 
his  mother.  He  was  a  marvellous  sweet  singer, 
captain  of  the  singing-boys  in  the  Pied  Friars' 


136  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Church ;  and  had  been  mock-bishop  on  two  Saint 
Nicolas'  days.  Also  he  was  ever  a  favourite  with 
the  maids,  and  had  a  ready  tongue.  I  do  believe 
I  should  have  made  a  priest  of  him,  or  perhaps  a 
religious ;  for  the  like  of  those  are  great  qualities 
in  choir  or  cloister.  Or  so  it  seems.'  I  give  you 
the  simple  words  of  the  man. 

"  Just  then  the  woman  pulled  the  apron  from 
her  head,  and  screamed,  pointing  at  Roger  Mon- 
thermer. 

" '  Thou  knowest,  O  head  of  clay,'  she  cried  out, 
'  what  is  become  of  him.  The  Jews,  the  Jews ! v 

"  All  the  bystanders  gaped  at  her ;  but  Mon- 
thermer  sat  thinking. 

"  Then  he  said, '  Shut  the  town  gates  and  search 
their  quarter.  But  do  no  violence.' 

"  Plessy  lies,  as  you  know,  on  either  side  the 
river  Lene,  which  there  flows  broad  and  strong 
and  of  a  brown  colour,  being  not  far  from  the 
freedom  of  the  sea.  East  of  Plessy  the  sea  is, 
and  there  between  are  the  sea-flats ;  west  are  the 
marshes  and  water-meadows,  stretching  deep  into 
the  heart  of  the  shire,  waste,  uninhabited,  unin- 
habitable lands.  Lene  Bridge  is  midway  of  the 
city  boundary ;  and  west  of  the  bridge,  edging  on 
the  river,  walled  and  gated  on  all  landward  sides, 
is  the  quarter  of  the  Jews,  with  a  synagogue,  and  a 
large  church  called  of  Saint-Paul-in-Jewry,  whither 
on  the  day  Passionis  Domini  they  drive  all  the  Jews, 
men,  women,  and  children,  to  be  preached  (if  that 
be  possible)  into  reasonable  compunction  for  their 
crowning  offence.  Now,  the  day  when  Gervase  was 
stolen  (if  stolen  at  all)  was  Holy  Thursday,  and  the 
day  when  his  parents  pleaded  before  Monthermer 


THE  PRIORESS'  TALE  I37 

the  Eve  of  Easter,  the  Sabbath  of  the  Jews.  This 
made  it  a  very  easy  matter  to  hold  inquest,  with 
the  whole  of  them  packed  in  their  synagogue. 

"They  held  two  inquests,  one  civil  and  one 
divine.  For  the  second,  which  the  Bishop  of 
Plessy  took  in  hand,  they  made  a  procession  of 
the  church  estate,  and  having  first  purified  it  with 
incense,  perambulated  the  synagogue  with  cross 
and  candles,  and  the  Host  under  a  canopy.  Great 
indignation  was  caused  among  the  Jews,  who  said 
that  their  franchise  was  broken,  but  nothing  was 
found  by  these  means ;  nor  did  the  Bishop's  ser- 
mon, delivered  from  the  words,  The  hidden  things 
shall  be  made  plain,  draw  any  testimony  from  a 
stiff-necked  generation.  No  more  success  re- 
warded the  fatigues  of  the  Mayor,  bailiffs  and 
commonalty  of  the  city,  who  visited,  or  said  that 
they  visited,  every  house  in  Jewry.  There  were 
many  who  denied  this,  saying  that  such  a  thing 
was  not  possible  where  tenements  were  so  lofty 
and  visitors  so  fat.  But  the  result  was  no  more 
comfort  to  the  parents  of  Gervase  than  was  the 
explanation.  Those  poor  souls  mourned  when 
all  the  world  rejoiced :  there  was  no  Easter  for 
them.  The  Pied  Friars  also  mourned,  since  in 
their  church  was  none  to  sing  the  solemn  music 
proper  to  the  feast ;  a  terrible  thing  for  the  com- 
munity, whose  fame  seemed  gone  out  with  Ger- 
vase. 

"  Two  days  afterward  Gervase's  mother  ap- 
peared at  Norham  very  early.  Monthermer  was 
yet  in  bed,  but  she,  pale  and  strenuous  as  she  was, 
must  see  him  at  all  hazard.  She  did  see  him,  and 
flung  at  him  all  her  story.  She  said  she  had  had 


138  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

a  vision  of  her  boy.  She  had  seen  him  standing 
alone  and  naked  in  the  dusk,  with  blood  upon  his 
mouth. 

" '  Do  you  wake  me  out  of  visions,  woman,  on 
account  of  nothing  better  than  your  own  ? '  asked 
Monthermer,  angry. 

" '  I  know  the  place,  I  know  the  place,'  she  per- 
sisted. '  It  is  all  clear  to  me  now.' 

" '  Where  was  the  boy  then  ? '  he  asked  her. 

" '  Oh,'  says  she,  '  it  was  underground,  a  wet 
place  near  the  river  floor.  The  ground  was  pud- 
dled with  wet,  the  walls  trickled  water,  but  a  little 
light  came  in  from  a  hole  in  the  side.  The  walls 
were  of  hewn  clay,  two  piers  of  old  brick  held  up 
the  vault.  There  were  great  worms  in  there,  and 
slow  fat  rats,  and  pools  of  water ;  and  in  the  midst 
my  lovely  boy,  staring,  not  crying;  and  naked, 
with  blood  upon  his  mouth.  Oh,  Christ  Jesus  ! ' 
She  wept  and  tossed  herself  about. 

'"Get  you  hence,  woman,'  says  Monthermer; 
'  I  am  going  to  get  out  of  bed.' 

"  When  he  was  dressed  he  called  for  horse  and 
sword,  drank  a  quart -potful  of  beer,  mounted,  and 
bid  the  woman  lead  him  to  the  place  of  her  vision. 
She  did  not  hesitate  to  take  the  bridle  nor  to  lead 
him  directly  to  Plessy ;  but  she  turned  before  the 
bridge,  followed  Prick- Hart  Street  and  the  Flesher- 
Gate  to  the  gate  of  Jewry.  She  took  him  within 
Jewry.  The  door  of  the  Synagogue  was  shut  and 
barred. 

'  It  was  in  there,'  she  said,  '  underground.' 

"  Monthermer  cried  to  his  men,  '  Fetch  me  down 
that  door :  and  go  one  of  you  find  the  elders  of 
the  Jews.'  These  things  were  begun.  Before  the 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  139 

panels  were  started  three  or  four  old  men  were 
brought  up  by  the  watch.  One  of  them,  with  a 
key  on  a  cushion,  offered  it  kneeling  to  Monther- 
mer.  So  Monthermer  went  into  the  synagogue, 
holding  the  woman's  hand;  and  all  the  rest  fol- 
lowed in  silence. 

"  There  was  a  shallow  apse  at  the  end  of  the 
synagogue  paved  with  blue  tiles,  and  a  recess  in 
that  again,  which  a  curtain  covered.  Towards 
this,  when  Monthermer's  guide  would  have  led 
him,  the  old  Jews  ran  hastily  with  their  arms 
spread  out. 

"  '  Not  there,  my  lord,  not  there ! '  they  cried. 

"  '  How  now,  dogs  ? '  asked  their  lord. 

" '  My  lord,'  said  they,  '  that  is  a  very  holy  place 
in  our  religion ; '  but  before  Monthermer  could 
say  Pish !  Gervase's  mother  was  within  the  apse 
on  her  knees,  and  her  face  close  to  the  pavement 
smelling  the  tiles.  All  watched  her.  Presently 
she  looked  up,  with  the  look  of  one  who  smells 
sour,  in  her  eyes  a  pain.  *  Hereabouts  they  went 
down  with  him,'  she  said.  Monthermer  began  to 
prod  the  pavement  with  his  long  sword. 

"  When  they  had  tortured  one  of  the  Jews  for  a 
few  minutes  he  confessed  the  way  down  ;  so  they 
went  through  the  pavement  by  a  ladder  into  a 
vaulted  place,  very  much  as  the  woman  had  de- 
scribed it ;  and  one  brought  down  a  torch  of  wax. 
There,  standing  up  in  the  midst  of  the  vault, 
mortised,  they  saw  a  wooden  cross. 

"  Monthermer  said,  pointing  to  it  with  his 
sword,  '  And  what  is  that  doing  here,  you  dogs? ' 

"  A  very  old  Jew  with  long  white  eyelashes 
answered  him,  blinking,  '  My  Lord,  we  have  heard 


140  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

of  great  things,  marvellous  doings  and  miracles, 
wrought  by  the  Cross  of  Christ.  Therefore  we 
have  one  here,  thinking  that  perchance  it  may 
show  us  a  portent,  and  change  our  hearts.  But 
as  yet  it  hath  not  vouchsafed  any  such  thing.' 
This  was  an  answer  to  which  none  could  take 
exception  ;  at  least  Monthermer  took  none.  But 
he  was  occupied  with  something  else.  He  went 
forward  and  touched  the  cross. 

"  '  Hounds,'  says  he,  '  it  is  wet.' 

" '  Many  unavailing  tears  have  been  shed  on  that 
cross,  my  lord,'  replied  the  old  Jew. 

" '  I  believe  that,  by  Heaven  ! '  cried  Monther- 
mer; 'and  much  besides,  you  spent  rogue.' 

"  But  as  nothing  could  be  proved  against  them, 
Monthermer  (a  just  man)  would  not  put  them  to 
more  question  or  to  death.  He  committed  them 
to  the  common  prison  until  he  was  more  fully 
advised,  with  this  solitary  grace,  that  every  Sun- 
day they  should  sit  in  the  nave  of  Saint-Paul's-in- 
Jewry  and  hear  mass  and  a  sermon.  And  this 
was  done  from  Easter  to  Ascension.  So  much 
for  Monthermer,  Gervase's  mother,  and  the  elders 
of  the  Jews. 

"  Now  hear  the  truth  of  the  matter.  The  ruddy 
woman's  pocket  had  been  full  of  some  sticky  stuff 
which  Gervase  found  to  be  very  sweet.  While  he 
was  still  sucking  his  fingers  she  took  his  arm,  say- 
ing, '  Come  with  me,  my  dear,  and  I  will  give 
you  a  bellyful  of  that.' 

"  Gervase  looked  about  him,  up  the  street  and 
down  the  street,  and  at  the  woman,  who  had  a 
merry  face.  He  gave  her  his  hand  without  a 
word  said,  she  put  herself  between  him  and  the 


THE  PRIORESS'  TALE  141 

garth,  and  slipped  beyond  the  gate.  '  Now  hurry, 
hurry,'  she  said  in  a  whisper,  and  ran,  and  Gervase 
with  her.  They  ran  up  Hunger  Lane  across 
the  square  into  the  Shambles,  crossed  Norham 
Street,  got  into  Prick- Hart  Street  which  is  by 
Leneside ;  and  so  came  to  a  gate  of  blackened 
brick  where  an  old  watchman  sat  nodding  be- 
hind his  wicket  asleep.  Gervase  did  not  know 
the  street  beyond  this  gate :  it  was  narrow,  ill- 
paved  and  dirty,  and  the  houses  in  it  had  very 
few  windows,  tall  as  they  were.  Such  as  they  had 
were  shuttered  close.  Women,  muffled  and  dark 
like  his  companion,  but  much  more  pale,  and 
heavy-eyed,  stood  about  the  door;  some  sat  on 
the  doorsteps,  with  their  heads  between  their 
knees,  some  were  nursing  babies,  half  their  bodies 
bare.  What  men  they  met  seemed  very  old,  with 
deep  lines  on  their  foreheads  and  discoloured 
white  beards  over  their  breasts.  Gervase  saw  no 
boys,  no  young  men,  no  old  women,  or  very  few. 
There  was  a  faint  smell,  as  of  cooked  fat,  about 
these  silent  ways,  little  air,  no  sun.  All  this 
made  the  boy  pull  back.  *  Not  so  fast,  mistress, 
not  so  fast,'  he  said,  panting  rather;  'I  don't 
know  whither  you  will  take  me.'  But  she  did  not 
slacken. 

" '  Come,  child,'  was  all  she  said ;  and  turned 
a  corner  then  into  a  lane  so  narrow  that  Gervase 
judged  he  could  have  spanned  it  with  his  two  arms. 
Also  it  became  necessary  that  they  should  walk 
in  file  or  embraced.  The  woman  chose  for  the 
latter  course,  put  her  arm  about  the  boy's  middle, 
and  had  him  closer  than  ever.  In  this  lane,  high 
above  him,  Gervase  saw  two  women  pass  a  child 


142  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

across  from  house  to  house.  There  seemed  no' 
passengers ;  but  near  the  end  of  the  lane,  sud- 
denly, a  youngish  woman  with  very  light  eyes  and 
a  shawl  over  her  head  stepped  out  of  a  doorway 
and  spoke  to  the  one  who  had  Gervase. 

"  '  Are  you  sure  of  him  ? '  she  asked ;  and  the 
other  replied. 

"  '  Not  yet.     Come,  and  we  shall  be.' 

"  The  newcomer's  eyes  swam  with  tears  as  she 
looked  at  the  boy. 

" '  Oh,  he  stirs  my  thought ! '  she  said,  and  her 
lips  quivered.  All  this  frightened  Gervase  so 
much  that  he  stuck  his  heels  into  the  ground, 
refusing  to  budge.  The  ruddy  woman  coaxed, 
rallied,  at  last  cuffed  him,  but  to  little  purpose. 
'  No,  no,  no,'  he  said ;  '  I  don't  like  it.  I'm 
afraid.' 

" '  Help  me,  Sornia,'  said  she ;  and  the  pale- 
eyed  other,  still  looking  piercingly  at  Gervase, 
came  edging  up,  and  took  his  other  arm,  very 
gently.  Together  they  got  him  on  round  two  or 
three  corners,  in  and  out  of  a  labyrinth  of  close- 
smelling  dark  passages,  until  they  came  to  a  green 
door  marked  HILLEL.  After  a  knocking,  this 
opened  seemingly  by  itself;  and  Gervase  was 
led  in. 

"  From  this  point  was  no  time  for  protest  nor 
struggling  in  the  dark,  nor  could  either  have 
availed  him.  But,  indeed,  after  his  short  fit  of 
jibbing  in  the  street,  he  had  recovered  himself. 
He  was  at  once  a  sturdy  and  a  sharp  lad.  Not 
sure  that  there  was  anything  to  fear,  he  was  quite 
sure  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  try- 
ing to  escape.  Now  there  was  always  something 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  143 

to  be  hoped  for,  namely,  that  for  which  he  had 
come;  and  he  was  quite  astute  enough  to  have 
noticed  the  way  Sornia  had  looked  at  him.  What 
followed,  therefore,  he  suffered. 

"  When  they  had  taken  him  down  some  steps, 
and  along  a  passage  which  smelt  mouldy  and  was 
cold,  they  brought  him  into  a  room  bare  of  all 
kind  of  furniture  but  a  press  in  the  wall.  Here 
the  two  women  stripped  him  of  everything  he 
had  on,  then  looked  him  carefully  all  over. 

" '  There  is  no  blemish  nor  spot,'  said  she  who 
had  brought  him  in :  '  all  is  well  so  far.' 

"Sornia  said,  'Quick,  the  robe;  I  cannot  bear 
to  look  upon  such  sweet  flesh.'  So  Myrrha  (that 
was  her  name  who  first  got  him)  went  to  the 
press  and  got  a  clean  linen  robe  with  sleeves  to 
it,  all  white.  This  she  put  upon  Gervase,  and 
bound  it  round  his  loins  with  a  crimson  silk 
girdle.  '  Now  all  is  ready,'  she  said ;  '  Come.' 

" '  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me,  mis- 
tress ? '  says  Gervase,  a  good  deal  scared. 

" '  You  will  soon  see,  child,'  Myrrha  told  him. 
The  other  said  nothing  at  all. 

" '  But  I  want  the  sweetmeat  you  promised  me,' 
says  Gervase ;  '  and  then  I  want  to  go  away.' 

" '  You  shall  have  it,  Gervase,'  Myrrha  said ; 
'  only  come  like  a  good  boy.' 

"  *  But  I  must  have  my  clothes.  And  why  am 
I  in  this  frock  ?  What  is  the  meaning  of  such  a 
gallimaufry  ?  I  have  never  been  pulled  about 
like  this  before,  let  me  tell  you.'  He  spoke  to 
Sornia,  half  crying,  though  he  did  all  he  could  to 
hold  an  even  voice.  To  Sornia  also  his  words 
cost  as  much  to  hear;  she  tried  not  to  look  at 


144  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

him,  but  could  not  help  herself.  Once  she  shook 
her  head,  and  once  held  out  her  arms  to  him  be- 
hind Myrrha's  back.  Thus  some  sort  of  secret 
intelligence  passed  between  them,  and  Gervase, 
taking  comfort,  again  allowed  himself  to  be  led 
by  the  hand. 

"  They  took  him  down  a  panelled  passage-way, 
which  was  lighted  by  six-branched  lamps,  into  a 
small  room  of  two  doors,  where  he  saw  a  table,  a 
chair,  and  a  bowl  full  of  white  substance,  stiff  and 
glistening.  'Sit  down  and  take  your  filling  of 
it,'  said  Myrrha.  Gervase  put  his  fingers  into  the 
bowl  and  sucked  the  tips  of  them. 

"  *  It  is  the  same  you  had  in  your  pocket,'  he 
says ;  then  sat  down  and  ate  some  of  the  stuff. 
It  had  a  very  sweet  sharp  taste,  and  was  pungent 
in  the  nose.  He  ate  for  a  time,  but  sparingly; 
presently  stopped,  listening. 

" '  Who  are  those  men  beyond  the  door  ? '  he 
asked,  looking  to  Sornia.  She  turned  her  head 
away ;  it  was  Myrrha  who  answered,  '  They  are 
friends  of  mine.  Eat  your  filling.' 

" '  I  want  no  more  of  this  muck,'  says  Gervase ; 
'  I  feel  sick.'  The  two  women  looked  at  each 
other  in  a  queer  way.  Gervase  turned  restless 
eyes  about  the  chamber,  wiped  his  forehead  once 
or  twice  with  his  hand.  '  Oh  God,'  says  he  then, 
'  I  am  horribly  sick.'  And  he  was,  needing  all 
the  comfort  the  pair  of  women  could  give  him, 
till  at  last  he  was  so  weak  that  he  laid  his  head  on 
Myrrha's  bosom  and  swooned  off. 

"  Sornia,  white  all  over,  said,  '  Dare  we  go  on 
with  this  ?  Have  we  blood  or  milk  in  our  breasts  ? ' 

" '  Neither,'  said  Myrrha,  '  but  gall.' 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  145 

" '  Devilry,'  said  Sornia,  in  a  hot  whisper, 
'  devilry,  Myrrha !  I  had  a  child  once.' 

"  Myrrha  shrugged  :  '  I  had  none.  Get  me  some 
cold  water.  We  must  bring  him  round,  the  little 
glutton.' 

" '  He  has  been  speedier  sick  than  any ! '  cried 
Sornia  in  a  fierce  taking.  *  He  has  eaten  barely 
a  spoonful.'  But  she  went  away  for  the  water, 
and  while  she  was  gone  a  black  man  put  his  head 
in  at  another  door.  He  was  entirely  without 
hair,  and  had  lines  like  furrows  on  either  side  of 
his  nose. 

"  He  said,  'Are  you  not  ready?'  and  Myrrha 
looked  down  at  the  boy's  face  lying  close  against 
her  breast.  Gervase  was  asleep.  She  shook  her 
head,  and  the  black's  drew  in. 

"  The  water  revived  Gervase ;  he  sighed  and 
opened  his  eyes,  but  lay  where  he  was  and  thence 
looked  up,  smiling  confidently  at  Myrrha.  At  this 
adorable  act  even  her  hard  breath  quickened ;  but 
Sornia  hid  her  face  in  her  arm  upon  the  table. 

" '  You  ate  too  much  of  my  sweetmeats,  Gervase,' 
said  Myrrha. 

"  *  I  ate  very  little  of  it,'  says  the  boy,  '  and  yet 
too  much.'  He  shut  his  eyes  again;  Myrrha 
jogged  him,  asking,  '  Can  you  stand  up  now, 
Gervase  ? ' 

" '  Oh,  yes,'  says  he,  '  I  can  stand  up ;  but  you 
had  better  hold  my  hand.' 

"  Myrrha  wiped  his  mouth  and  forehead  with 
her  apron,  smoothed  his  hair,  and  then  called  up 
Sornia  with  a  'tst,  tst,'  in  the  teeth.  Sornia 
brushed  her  eyes  with  the  back  of  her  hand,  and 
came  forward.  Each  took  a  hand  of  Gervase 


146  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

(Sornia  squeezed  that  which  she  had,  and  was 
answered  again)  and  went  with  him  to  the  door 
at  the  further  end  of  the  room,  which  had  last 
been  used  by  the  black.  Myrrha  pushed  it  open 
with  her  knee.  There  were  three  steps  down 
from  it  into  a  great  hall  full  of  men  in  a  strong 
light. 

"  The  light  was  so  strong  that  Gervase  bowed 
his  head  to  meet  it.  It  seemed  solid ;  but  as  a 
fact  it  came  from  innumerable  candles  stuck  by 
the  walls.  His  eyeballs  ached,  it  was  sharp  pain 
to  look  about  him ;  but  when  he  was  able  he  saw  a 
spacious  room,  dazzlingly  bright,  which  stretched 
back  to  an  apse  and  a  heavy  curtained  place. 
Under  a  dome  in  the  midst  was  a  small  dai's  with 
a  stool  of  red  lacquer  upon  it,  and  diverse  rolls  of 
parchment  with  silk  tassels  hanging  from  them, 
heaped  also  on  the  dai's.  All  about  this,  before 
it,  behind  it,  on  the  right  of  it  and  on  the  left, 
were  men,  sitting  on  the  floor  with  bent  down 
heads:  old  men  for  the  most  part,  with  beards, 
grey,  grizzled,  and  all  white :  among  them  here 
and  there  he  saw  blacks.  Very  dark  blue,  black, 
or  otherwise  sad  was  the  colour  of  their  habits, 
and  all  had  their  heads  covered  in  hoods.  Every 
face  looked  to  the  door  as  he  was  brought  in ; 
the  dark  floor  swam  with  sudden  white :  he  heard 
the  rustle  of  multitudinous  robes.  At  the  further 
end,  immediately  before  the  dai's,  three  men  stood 
up,  a  white-beard  with  a  fillet  round  his  head,  a 
grey-beard,  and  a  hairless  black.  Gervase  wetted 
his  lips  with  his  tongue  and  took  in  a  sharp  breath. 
He  was  drawn  through  the  sitting  men,  by  a 
narrow  way  in  the  midst  of  them ;  and  going,  he 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  147 

heard  their  hot  breath,  sometimes  whistling  like 
the  wind  in  the  keyhole,  sometimes  thick  and 
short  like  that  of  dogs.  From  one  end  of  the 
hall  to  the  other,  from  the  door  to  the  dais  under 
the  dome,  they  led  quivering  Gervase.  There, 
standing  before  the  three  standing  men,  Myrrha 
said  — 

" '  Sirs,  we  present  you  here  a  virgin  without 
spot  according  to  the  custom  of  our  people.  Try 
him,  in  the  hope  that  all  may  be  accomplished, 
even  at  this  day.'  The  old  man,  midmost  of  the 
three,  replied,  '  It  is  well  that  you  do  it ;  for  he 
may  live  to  be  a  king  of  our  nation,  and  that  King 
who  should  come.  Give  him  to  us,  and  begone.' 
So  they  gave  Gervase's  two  hands  into  those  of 
the  old  man,  and  went  away  leaving  him  there. 

"  The  first  thing  done  to  him  was  to  loosen  his 
girdle,  take  off  the  robe,  and  ascertain  that  he 
was  what  he  had  been  reported.  The  scrutiny  was 
closer,  but  yet  no  blemish  was  found  upon  him 
anywhere,  save  a  black  speck  on  one  of  his  upper 
teeth,  which  they  took  off  carefully  with  a  file. 
Then  the  old  man,  in  a  mild  and  rather  fatigued 
voice,  questioned  him,  and  was  answered,  as 
follows :  — 

" '  What  is  your  name  ? ' 

" '  It  is  Gervase.' 

" '  Of  what  age  are  you  ? ' 

" '  Of  fifteen  years,  come  Childermas  next.' 

" '  Of  what  condition  are  your  parents  in  this 
place  ? ' 

" '  My  father  keeps  the  quay  below  Lene  Bridge; 
and  my  mother  has  poultry,  and  a  small  huckster's 
shop.' 


148  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  '  Are  you  first-born  of  your  parents  ? ' 

" '  I  am  first-born  son ;  but  there  are  three  sis- 
ters above  me  —  Ursula  and  Gudula  and  Gri- 
selda.' 

" '  Have  you  brothers,  Gervase  ? ' 

" '  Master,  I  have  three.' 

" '  Are  you  a  scholar  ? ' 

" '  I  go  to  school,  sir,  in  the  cloister  of  the  Pied 
Friars.' 

"  '  What  do  they  teach  you  there  ? ' 

" '  Singing,  sir,  and  the  Christian  Verities.' 

" '  You  sing  ?     Sing  now  to  us.' 

"  Then  to  all  these  old  men,  squatting  on  the 
floor  with  their  knees  clasped  in  their  hands, 
Gervase  sang  like  a  thrush.  Certainly  he  had 
never  voiced  in  such  a  company  before,  nor  in 
such  a  guise,  for  he  was  mother-naked.  These 
accidents  made  him  uncertain  at  first ;  the  notes 
came  strangely:  but  they  gushed  full  flood  from 
him  as  he  went  on  with  his  work.  You  could 
have  seen  the  sound,  like  a  liquid  thing,  ripple  up 
his  throat.  First  he  sang  In  Exitu  Israel,  then 
Quare  fremuerunt,  in  a  sweet  shrill  voice ;  but 
next,  with  richer  volume,  Pange  lingua  gloriosi, 
and  (with  a  sobbing  descant  very  lovely  to  hear) 
Anima  Christi.  Last  of  all,  tired  as  he  was,  he 
sang  in  a  dead  hush,  on  a  strange,  meek,  questing 
note,  with  the  self-fed  rapture  of  a  lonely  bird,  that 
hymn  of  comfortable  prophecy,  which  runs  at  its 
close  — 

" '  Pax  ibi  florida,  pascua  vivida,  viva  medulla, 
Nulla  molestia,  nulla  tragoedia,  lacryma  nulla. 
O  sancta  potio,  sacra  refectio,  pax  animarum, 
O  pius,  O  bonus,  O  placidus  sonus,  hymnus  earum  ! ' 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  149 

"  At  the  end  of  this  his  speaking  voice  broke 
a  spell,  when  he  asked,  '  Sirs,  shall  I  sing  any 
more  ? ' 

"  The  old  man  whom  directly  he  addressed  was 
slow  to  answer  him.  His  eyes  were  shut,  his 
mouth  drawn  wide,  his  face  upturned,  as  if  he 
were  still  bathing  it  in  the  stream  of  young  music. 
When  he  did  speak  it  was  not  to  answer. 

" '  To  pierce  so  piercing  a  thing,'  he  said,  as  if 
to  himself,  '  What  greater  gift  can  a  man  make  ? 
Such  a  note  might  cleave  the  firmament  on  the 
Last  Day  —  and  for  our  sakes  do  it.  Maybe  we 
have  indeed  a  herald  and  ambassador  in  this  latter 
end  of  time.  O  my  boy,'  he  said  fearfully,  open- 
ing his  wrinkled  eyes,  '  what  is  the  sense  of  these 
words  you  have  sung  ? ' 

"  '  They  are  Latin  words,'  said  Gervase,  *  and  I 
know  very  little  about  them ;  but  no  doubt  they 
are  mostly  concerned  with  the  blessings  of  the 
Catholic  religion.' 

"  The  old  man  sighed,  but  went  on  eagerly 
to  ask,  '  And  what  is  the  Catholic  religion,  thou 
strong  singer  ? '  Gervase  looked  at  him  quickly. 

" '  I  thought  everyone  knew  that,'  he  said.  '  It 
is  the  worship  of  God  in  Trinity,  and  salvation 
by  the  Cross  whereon  our  Saviour  died ;  most  of 
all  it  is  the  benefit  of  the  prayers  of  our  Lady. 
She,  as  we  understand,  cries  to  God,  her  Son, 
night  and  day  for  Christian  people.  And  God 
always  listens  to  what  she  says,  and  blesses  us. 
And  when  He  is  not  blessing  us,  He  is  sending 
Jews,  and  all  Turks,  and  other  Atheists  to  Hell.' 

"  The  sitting  crowd  surged  all  together  here, 
and  stopped  him  with  gestures ;  and  some  began 


ISO  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

to  murmur  and  talk  hotly  to  each  other.  But  the 
chief  old  man,  staying  them  with  a  lifted  hand, 
turned  to  Gervase  again. 

" '  Dost  thou  believe  all  this,  O  singer  ?  ' 

"  Gervase  said,  '  I  certainly  believe  it,  sir; '  and 
the  old  questioner  looked  desperately  grey. 

"  A  red-bearded  man  stood  up  in  the  middle 
hall.  Supporting  himself  on  either  side  by  the 
shoulder  of  another,  he  swayed  about,  trying  to 
speak.  But  his  head  wagged,  his  teeth  rattled 
together,  no  words  came.  So  he  remained,  jerk- 
ing like  a  man  hanged,  showing  his  tongue  and 
white  eyeballs. 

"'Speak,  Malachi,'  said  the  old  man.  The 
other  swallowed,  and  in  a  thick  voice  said,  '  Make 
him  king.'  The  old  man  wiped  his  brow. 

" '  Well,'  he  said,  '  I  will  do  it  if  I  must,  and  if 
it  is  demanded  of  me.' 

"  Then  they  all  cried,  *  Make  him  king !  Make 
him  king ! '  with  one  voice,  which  came  in  two 
thudding  shocks,  like  waves  in  volume  attacking 
a  cliff:  Gervase  blenched  to  hear  and  feel  its  ve- 
hemence, and  stood  quaking  before  his  witnesses, 
scarce  knowing  what  they  next  did. 

"  They  put  on  him  a  red  robe  with  a  white  girdle; 
and  some  one  brought  a  circlet  of  dry  bramble 
and  set  it  on  his  head.  So  apparelled,  they  stood 
him  between  them  on  the  fore  part  of  the  dai's, 
while  all  the  company  came,  one  man  after  another, 
and  bent  the  knee  to  him,  saying  as  he  knelt, 
'  Hail  thou,  who  mayst  be  our  king ! ' 

"  There  were  more  than  two  hundred  who  thus 
worshipped  him ;  and  long  before  the  end  Ger- 
vase was  so  tired  that  he  tottered,  and  must  be 


THE  PRIORESS'  TALE  151 

held  up  in  the  arms  of  the  old  man.  A  little 
blood  from  a  scratch  on  his  temples  trickled  down 
his  cheek  to  his  nose,  and  made  him  snuffle. 

"  At  the  end  of  the  ceremony,  the  old  man, 
seeing  the  boy  nodded,  gave  him  a  little  shake 
and  woke  him  up. 

"  *  Now,  Gervase,'  he  says,  '  prepare  thyself. 
For  having  done  thee  the  honours  of  a  king,  we 
must  do  God  honour  according  to  the  custom  of 
our  nation,  and  according  to  our  hope.' 

"  Gervase,  half  lying  in  his  arms,  looked  up 
sideways,  being  scared.  His  lips  went  very  white. 

"  *  Oh,  sir,'  he  faltered,  '  are  you  going  to  kill 
me?' 

"  The  old  man  blinked.  '  We  think  that  thou 
wilt  first  die,  as  blind  men  reckon,'  he  told  him. 
1  But  this  is  the  hope  we  have  —  that  that  which 
happened  once  before  (as  the  Christians  report) 
may  happen  yet  once  again,  and  so  this  people 
also  be  convinced  of  the  truth.  For  we  still  wait 
for  our  king  indeed  —  namely,  him  who  may  over- 
come death  and  (as  Esaias  saith)  lead  captivity 
captive.' 

"  Gervase,  you  may  believe,  did  not  show  any 
understanding  of  this.  He  was  engaged  wetting 
his  lips.  When  the  speech  was  done  he  looked 
up  again  trembling,  and  asked,  *  What  are  you 
going  to  do  to  me,  sir? ' 

" '  We  shall  hang  thee  on  a  cross,  Gervase,' 
said  the  old  man. 

"  Gervase  looked  all  round  about  him  from  one 
tense  face  to  another,  searching  (as  it  seemed)  the 
eyes  of  Fate,  if  haply  he  could  find  and  read  in 
them  the  riddle  of  his  troubles.  Face  after  face 


152  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

he  pondered  and  left ;  he  must  have  looked  into 
them  all.  He  did  not  cry,  nor  tremble  at  the  lips, 
though  his  mouth  was  a  little  open,  and  at  the 
knees  he  certainly  did  tremble.  Finally  his 
thoughtful  gaze  came  back  to  the  face  of  the  old 
man  who  held  him.  But  he  said  nothing. 

" '  Well,'  said  that  other, '  hast  thou  nothing  to 
say  to  us  ?  Is  there  to  be  no  sign  from  the  edge 
of  life  ?  No  sign  at  all  ? ' 

"  Gervase,  no  fool,  said,  '  Sir,  if  you  please,  I 
should  like  to  say  my  say  to  one  of  the  women 
who  brought  me  here,  not  Myrrha.' 

" '  What,  not  to  her  who  gave  thee  the 
sweetmeat  ? ' 

" '  No,  no,'  says  Gervase  in  a  hurry ;  '  no,  no,  to 
the  other  one.  I  will  speak  to  her.' 

"  They  sent  for  Sornia,  who  came  quickly  in 
and  straight  to  Gervase.  The  men  drew  a  little 
apart ;  she  knelt  beside  him  and  put  her  arms 
about  his  body,  whispering,  '  Speak,  dear,  speak ; 
I  am  Sornia,  that  loves  thee.'  Gervase  looked 
into  her  face  with  his  troubled  eyes,  hesitating 
for  words  which  might  express,  without  naming, 
his  supposed  fate.  No  child  either  believes  in  or 
will  talk  of  his  own  death. 

" '  Well,  Sornia,'  he  said,  '  I  am  afraid  they  are 
going  to  do  something  to  me  at  last.  It  is  a  bad 
business  —  very  bad.  Oh,  oh,  oh ! '  he  sobbed, 
with  a  gush  of  sympathy  for  himself.  '  I  can't 
die,  Sornia ! ' 

"  She  pressed  him  close.  '  Dearest  boy,  dearest 
boy,'  she  whispered  urgently,  '  thou  shalt  not. 
Trust  to  me.  Oh,  mercy,  how  I  love  thee,  my 
beautiful ! ' 


THE  PRIORESS'  TALE  153 

" '  Why,'  says  he,  not  looking  at  her,  but  with 
fingers  restless  on  her  shoulder,  '  Why  do  you 
love  me,  Sornia  ? '  She  shook  her  hair  back  as 
she  clung  to  him. 

" '  I  can  save  thee  because  of  my  love,  Gervase ; 
and  I  love  thee  because  once  I  had  a  son  like 
thee.  Thou  hast  made  me  mad  for  my  son.  If 
I  save  thee,  wilt  thou  not  be  my  son  ? ' 

"  Gervase  looked  at  her  seriously.  '  If  you  say 
that  you  will  save  me,'  he  said,  '  I  shall  believe 
you.  Will  you  begin  to  save  me  now?  Will  you 
speak  to  these  old  men  ?  ' 

"  But  she  shook  her  head.  *  No,  my  dear,  no. 
They  will  put  thee  on  the  cross  and  fasten  thee 
there.  I  cannot  prevent  it,  but  thou  shalt  not 
die  of  that.  Presently  after  they  will  go  away, 
and  then  I  come  quickly.  Thou  shalt  not  die; 
it  is  the  terror  of  the  loneliness  and  the  long 
pains  that  kill  through  the  cross.  Be  brave,  my 
boy  Gervase,  and  endure  what  thou  canst.  I  am 
very  sure  to  save  thee,  because  of  my  deep  love.' 

"'  Well,'  said  Gervase  in  a  hushed  voice.  And 
then  coaxingly  he  touched  her  cheek,  saying, 
'  Come  soon,  Sornia.' 

"  She  strained  him  in  her  arms :  '  Dearest,  I 
shall  bleed  more  than  thou  until  I  come.' 

"  Says  Gervase, '  I  bleed  now.  I  can  taste  blood 
in  my  mouth.' 

"  She  kissed  him  secretly,  rose  and  went  from 
him  without  another  word.  The  old  man  caught 
at  her  arm  as  she  turned. 

" '  Well,  what  said  he,  Sornia  ? ' 

"  She  looked  him  fixedly  in  the  face,  her  eyes 
strangely  glittering. 


154  NEW   CANTERBURY   TALES 

" '  He  said,  I  cannot  die,'  she  answered.  '  And 
his  words  are  true.  There  will  be  no  more  of 
this.' 

"  The  old  man  caught  his  breath.  '  Oh,  do  you 
believe  it  ?  Do  you  believe  it  ? ' 

"  Sornia  said,  '  I  do  believe  it.  Do  your  work, 
and  let  me  go.' 

"  Having  stripped  him  once  more,  they  took  him 
down  a  ladder  through  a  hole  in  the  floor  into  a 
place  lit  only  by  the  light  from  above,  dark  else 
in  all  corners,  very  cold,  and  wet  under  foot. 
There  was  a  great  cross  of  wood  there,  on  which 
they  laid  him.  Then  they  strapped  his  wrists 
and  ankles  with  cords,  and  did  the  rest  of  their 
work  as  quickly  as  they  could.  One  came  and 
muffled  Gervase's  mouth  with  a  handkerchief. 
Calling  then  for  help,  they  raised  the  cross  and 
slipped  it  into  a  socket.  Gervase  set  his  teeth, 
his  eyes,  the  bones  of  his  face.  He  gave  but  one 
short  cry  when  the  muscles  of  his  arms  felt  the 
wrench  and  all  his  flesh  seemed  one  piercing 
pain :  after  that  he  moaned  very  low  as  he 
breathed,  or  snuffled  at  the  nose.  One  by  one  in 
order  came  all  the  company  past  the  cross.  To 
each  as  he  came  the  old  man  said  these  words :  — 

" '  Brother,  you  have  crucified  your  king.  Why 
did  you  so  ? '  And  each  answered  him :  — 

"  '  Brother,  because  we  believe  that  we  should  be 
crucified,  and  the  king  stand  for  his  people' 

"  Then  the  old  man,  '  But  if  he  die,  brother? ' 

"And  the  catechumen,  'Then  we  shall  know 
that  he  is  not  the  king  indeed' 

"  After  the  last  man  had  come  down  out  of  the 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  155 

light  and  climbed  up  into  it  again,  the  old  man 
turned  to  the  cross  with  lifted  hands,  and  cried 
in  a  loud  voice,  'Live,  ckild,  if  it  be  possible, 
and  be  king  for  ever  after  the  order  of  Melchisedec! 
Then  he,  too,  went  up,  and  left  Gervase  hanging 
alone. 

'  It  was  still  quite  dark,  perhaps  not  yet  mid- 
night, when  Sornia  with  a  shrouded  lamp  crept 
through  the  long  hall  very  swiftly,  the  wind  of 
fear  fanning  in  her  pale  eyes  the  flame  of  love. 
She  came  to  the  ladder,  went  down  it  stumbling, 
and  at  the  bottom  felt  the  wet  on  her  bare  feet. 
'  Pah  ! '  said  she,  and  drew  back  against  the  ladder ; 
but  then  saw  dimly  the  outline  of  the  cross  and 
Gervase  hanging  there  motionless.  The  rats 
scurried  shrieking  into  corners,  and  some  tried 
to  run  up  the  walls ;  the  worms  writhed  slowly, 
sensing  the  light ;  at  the  foot  of  the  cross  stood 
Sornia,  her  lamp  on  high,  and  wept  to  see  the 
white  body,  but  wept  silently.  The  great  tears 
chased  each  other  down  her  cheeks.  '  O  God  in 
the  dark,'  she  prayed,  '  save  Gervase,  and  save 
me  ! '  She  set  down  the  light,  climbed  the  steps 
of  the  cross,  reached  and  cut  the  bonds  on  the 
boy's  wrists ;  then  as  his  body  fell  forward  on  to 
her  shoulder,  she  stooped  fumbling  at  the  ankle 
ropes  and  cruel  nails  at  the  feet  till  she  had  freed 
them  also.  So  she  brought  him  down,  stiff  and 
cold,  and  for  a  little  while  sat  at  the  cross's  foot 
with  him  on  her  lap,  peering  pitifully  into  the 
black  beyond. 

"  She  had  brought  with  her  a  small  flat  loaf  and 
pipkin  of  water,  but  found  that  Gervase  was  in  no 
condition  to  receive  of  them.  At  first,  indeed,  she 


156  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

feared  that  he  was  dead,  he  seemed  so  heavy  in 
her  arms.  This  made  her  frantic  to  rip  off  her 
gown,  lay  it  on  the  floor,  him  upon  it;  then  to 
listen  with  her  ear  at  his  heart,  to  feel  with  her 
cheek  at  his  nose,  if  any  pulse  or  breath  of  life 
might  be  stirring.  He  did  live.  She  thanked 
God  brokenly,  and  began  to  chafe  his  limbs.  To 
warm  him,  she  had  to  lie  prone  upon  him  and 
cherish  him  with  her  quick  breath.  By  these 
means,  pantingly  employed,  he  slowly  revived  and 
began  to  moan.  Now  she  could  lift  his  head  up 
a  little,  to  take  food  and  water  without  choking; 
and  after  a  while  by  patient  care  on  her  part,  a 
little  whimpering,  a  few  tears,  he  laid  his  head 
down  by  himself  and  fell  deeply  asleep  in  her 
arms.  She  tended  him  as  long  as  she  dared 
let  him  stay  there ;  then,  before  it  was  light,  got 
up,  searched  for  and  found  a  door  in  the  wall  of 
the  vault.  Of  this  she  drew  the  bolts  one  after 
another,  and  opening,  saw  the  river  darkly  flow- 
ing below  her  with  a  tide  not  yet  at  the  full  flood- 
mark.  There,  too,  swung  a  shallop.  Sornia 
swathed  up  Gervase  in  her  gown,  let  herself  down 
into  the  boat,  took  him  after  her,  laid  him  surely 
along  the  bottom.  But  this  was  not  all  she  had 
to  do.  She  must  needs  climb  up  into  the  vault 
again  to  bolt  the  door  as  it  had  been  at  first. 
When  she  rejoined  the  boat  it  was  by  way  of  the 
foreshore,  being  come  at  that  by  a  roundabout 
road  through  the  house.  Directly  she  had  gained 
the  shallop  she  cut  herself  adrift,  and  pulled  up- 
stream upon  the  last  of  the  flood. 

"  She  rowed  as  far  as  Wickham  Weirs,  beyond 
which  the  tide  might  not  serve  her.    There  she  ran 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  157 

the  boat  aground,  hid  it  in  an  osier  thicket ;  and 
for  the  rest  of  the  way  she  had  set  herself  carried 
Gervase  in  her  arms.  She  struck  over  the  marshes, 
going  as  if  guided  by  an  inner  light.  By  noon, 
fainting  with  the  burden  of  her  love  and  the  bur- 
den of  the  boy,  she  stumbled  into  a  willow-wood 
full  of  primroses  and  anemones,  and  sat  down  to 
look  at  her  treasure. 

"  Gervase  looked  his  best  asleep.  He  had  very 
long  eyelashes,  and  a  sleek  mouth  which  smiled 
when  he  was  in  repose.  His  hair  was  almost  black, 
his  skin  a  clear  brown,  his  nose  fine  and  straight. 
Awake,  his  grey  eyes  were  too  intelligent  for  such 
smooth  accompaniments;  they  consorted  oddly 
with  them,  made  him  look  too  shrewd,  shrewder 
than  he  was  or  could  have  been.  Sornia  took  no 
stock  of  this :  she  had  no  need,  for  she  loved  him 
already.  But  she  forced  herself  to  see  the  evi- 
dences of  his  pain,  the  blue  bruises  on  his  wrists 
and  ankles,  the  swelling  of  the  muscles  about  the 
armpits  and  the  groin,  the  cruel  scabbed  wounds, 
the  scars  left  by  the  thorns.  Cupid  on  the  cross ! 
The  most  lovely  being  in  breath  mangled  like  the 
Nazarene  !  But  she  had  saved  him  for  love,  and 
now  had  him.  Over  and  over  again  she  said  to 
herself,  '  Cupid  on  the  cross !  Cupid  on  the  cross ! 
Cupid  in  my  arms  —  Cupid  on  my  breast ! '  Her 
transports  —  for  she  had  forgotten  herself  —  dis- 
turbed him.  He  half  opened  his  eyes,  stretched 
himself  comfortably  and  turned  about,  looked  up 
at  her,  smiled,  snuggled  down  again,  slept  again. 
And  Sornia,  watching  him,  said,  '  Cupid  is  with 
me.  He  has  been  crucified,  but  I  have  saved  him. 
Now  he  shall  crucify  me.' 


158  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Gervase 
again  opened  his  eyes,  and  tried,  in  the  most  natu- 
ral way  possible,  to  stick  his  fists  into  them.  But 
this  hurt  him  horribly  because  of  the  condition  of 
his  hands,  which  he  could  neither  shut  nor  fully 
open.  He  was  too  stiff  to  move,  could  not  stand 
up ;  this  way  and  that  he  turned,  but  could  get  no 
ease.  He  began  to  fret,  to  grumble  and  whimper, 
in  pain  and  in  anger  at  the  pain.  Sornia  would 
have  comforted  him  if  she  might,  and  herself  by 
the  same  act;  but  Gervase  would  have  none  of 
her  comforting,  neither  the  soft  words  nor  the 
kisses.  Between  his  bouts  of  crying  he  gaped ; 
she  judged  him  hungry;  night  was  coming  on 
apace  —  what  could  she  do  for  a  lodging  ?  Tired 
as  she  was,  she  got  up  and  lifted  him  in  her  arms, 
prepared  to  tramp  the  world  till  she  dropped  if  she 
could  win  him  a  harbour. 

"  She  walked  toward  the  sunset,  following  the 
course  of  a  slow  stream  bordered  with  willows. 
This  led  her  in  time  to  a  little  bridge  that  carried 
a  grass  track  over  the  water,  and  on  by  a  turf  dyke 
through  meadows  to  some  clumped  poplars  in  the 
distance.  Here  she  considered  a  hamlet  might 
lie,  and  thither  would  she  go.  She  was  right. 
As  she  drew  near  she  saw  a  church  tower,  some 
thatched  roofs,  cottage  gardens ;  here  would  be  food 
for  Gervase  if  she  dare  ask  it !  Woe  to  her  !  she 
knew  that  she  must  share  her  treasure  with  others 
for  the  treasure's  sake,  and  because  her  worn  arms 
refused  a  longer  burden.  In  the  falling  dusk  she 
staggered  to  the  first  door  she  reached,  knocked, 
and  fell  down  in  a  heap  before  it,  Gervase  limp  on 
her  knees.  A  little  girl,  half  naked,  tanned,  blue- 


THE  PRIORESS'  TALE  159 

eyed,  with  hair  like  a  sheet  of  yellow  floss,  opened 
the  door  and  gaped  at  her  with  lips  apart.  '  Help, 
for  God's  love,'  said  Sornia,  '  or  my  brother  will 
die.'  What  faint  old  shame  kept  the  name  of  son 
from  her,  I  know  not.  But  '  brother '  she  called 
him  in  her  extremity  and  did  herself  a  bad  turn 
in  the  end. 

"  The  child  at  the  door  faltered,  and  turning  half, 
called,  '  Mother,  mother! '  twice.  A  stout  woman 
came  clattering  out.  '  Powers  of  light,  what's 
this  ? '  quoth  she,  and  clapped-to  her  mouth.  But 
Sornia  had  that  to  say  which  quickened  her 
motherly  blood.  '  My  brother  has  been  crucified 
by  the  Jews,  but  I  have  snatched  him  from  the 
cross  alive.  Save  him  and  save  me.' 

" '  Come  you  in,  good  soul,'  said  the  woman 
urgently.  '  You  shall  live  to  make  a  joyful  Easter 
yet.  Come  you  in.  Persilla,  little  slut,  set  milk 
on  the  fire.  Thank  my  Saviour  there's  food  a 
plenty.'  The  two  wayfarers  were  put  to  bed. 

"  Gervase  made  a  quick  recovery.  In  a  week 
he  was  hobbling  out  and  about,  beyond  Sornia's 
control,  save  only  at  night,  when  he  slept  in  her 
bed  and  seemed  to  be  under  her  spell.  In  a  fort- 
night he  had  fought  all  the  boys  of  consideration 
in  the  village,  earned  a  secure  position,  and  was 
Persilla's  avowed  lover  and  slave.  This  fine  little 
person  treated  him  with  an  entire  contempt,  which 
made  the  lad's  case  the  more  desperate.  Gervase 
would  have  let  her  bare  foot  tread  upon  his  neck 
if  she  would  have  condescended  so  far  as  to  touch 
him.  But  Persilla  went  about  her  daily  affairs 
without  notice  of  him,  and  the  persistent  lover 
dogged  her  footsteps,  and  hung  wistfully  at  a 


160  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

distance  for  a  chance  sight  of  her  blue  eyes. 
Dogging  Gervase  in  turn  was  ever  Sornia,  the 
hungry  Jewess,  spying  after  the  son  she  had 
risked  so  much  to  win,  tormented  by  the  pain  in 
her  heart  which  told  her  that  if  this  boy  could 
so  lightly  forget  his  mother  after  the  flesh,  it  was 
certain  he  would  have  no  long  thought  for  her,  his 
mother  by  sacrifice.  True  enough  she  knew  her 
words  to  have  been.  The  Jews  had  crucified 
Gervase,  but  now  Gervase  would  crucify  her. 

"  At  night,  and  then  only,  she  had  a  force  within 
her  which  quelled  the  heedless  boy  and  laid  him 
at  her  mercy.  When  it  was  quite  dark,  and  all 
the  house  asleep,  Gervase,  sitting  moody  on  his 
bed,  would  sigh.  Then  Sornia  would  say,  '  Sing, 
Gervase ; '  and  he,  obedient,  would  sing  to  her 
softly,  church  music,  which  she  understood  even 
less  than  he,  but  which,  nevertheless,  some  right 
instinct  taught  her  to  select  harmoniously  to  her 
mood.  Jesu,  dulcis  memoria,  was  a  great  favourite 
with  her,  always  the  call  for  the  commencement 
of  her  single  joy.  As  Gervase  sang  — 

"'Jesum  quseram  in  lectulo, 
Clause  cordis  cubiculo  : 
Privatim  et  in  populo 
Quseram  amore  sedulo '  — 

she  would  draw  nearer  to  him  and  put  her  arm 
about  his  neck.  At  the  words  — 

"'Desidero  te  millies, 

Mi  Jesu  :  quando  venies?' 

this  poor  blind  fool  would  hold  him  closer  yet; 
and  at  the  last  strain  — 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  161 

"'Tune  amplexus,  tune  oscula 
Quse  vincunt  mellis  pocula  : 
Quam  felix  Christi  copula  ! ' 

she  made  him  utterly  her  own.  She  would  say  in 
his  ear,  '  By  day  I  have  no  power ;  but  by  night 
I  make  you  need  me.  Before  your  passion  you 
called  for  me.  When  you  hung  upon  the  cross 
you  waited  for  me,  and  I  came.  Now,  Gervase, 
you  need  me  again.  Is  it  not  so  ? ' 

" '  I  don't  know,  Sornia,'  he  would  reply,  and 
speak  the  words  low.  '  I  feel  tired.' 

"  She  would  say,  '  Lie  down,'  and  this  he  would 
do  without  a  word.  She,  leaning  over  him,  would 
mother  and  cherish  him,  saying  soft  quick  words, 
her  bosom  against  his  cheek.  '  My  lamb,  my  boy, 
my  Gervase! '  thus  she  would  hotly  whisper  — l  Oh, 
love  me  a  little,  my  lamb  ! '  And  Gervase,  hushed 
and  wondering,  would  answer  back,  '  Yes,  Sornia.' 
1  Wilt  thou  kiss  me  now,  Gervase  ? '  she  would  ask 
with  pride,  and  he  say  again,  'Yes,  Sornia.'  At 
this,  as  she  urged  towards  him,  looking  up  at 
her,  he  would  kiss  her  softly  three  or  four  times, 
after  that  call  her  mother  as  often  as  she  chose  to 
ask  it ;  and  her  poor  drained  heart  seemed  never 
full  of  the  folly.  But  next  morning  he  would  have 
nothing  to  say  to  her;  nor  did  she  attempt  to  stop 
him  when  he  got  up  with  the  first  light,  shook 
himself,  and  left  her  lying,  to  go  out  (as  she  knew 
very  well)  and  spread  his  heart  to  be  trashed  by 
Persilla's  bare  feet. 

"  For  some  weeks  she  lived  this  double  life,  of 
torture  by  day,  when  Gervase  strayed  after  gold- 
haired  Persilla,  and  of  uneasy  rapture  by  night, 
when  she  hushed  the  young  boy  to  sleep  in  her 


1 62  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

close  arms.  Her  pure  joy  was  only  in  the  sound 
of  his  voice  singing.  She  strained  her  ear  to  fol- 
low the  sense  of  the  great  open  vowels,  the  pound- 
ing rhymes  of  triumph,  or  those  which  hang  back, 
as  if  reluctant  to  leave  the  lips.  She  knew  when 
he  sang  of  Mary  and  her  Holy  Child,  when  of 
the  dolours  of  the  Cross,  when  of  the  Angel  with 
a  trumpet,  of  the  Last  Day,  of  the  far  fields  of 
Heaven.  You  and  I  know  these  things  by  pre- 
cept and  inheritance;  but  she  must  have  had  the 
root  of  music  in  her,  for  while  Gervase  was  sing- 
ing his  heart  out,  fired  by  his  own  art,  she  could 
conceive  of  no  power  in  the  world  to  withstand 
him,  of  no  law  of  God  which  could  gainsay  the 
truths  so  gloriously  made  manifest.  If  some  such 
voice  as  this — so  she  would  dream  —  should 
speak  the  faith  of  her  people  out  of  the  dark,  what 
ruling  tyranny  of  bishops  or  civil  lords  might  abide 
it?  Surely,  surely  in  that  guise  —  as  a  rapt  boy 
singing  —  should  come  the  King  who  was  to  come ! 
And  Gervase?  Was  he  not  a  king?  Had  he 
not  been  hailed  a  king  by  right  of  this  royal  prop- 
erty of  his  ?  King  of  her  she  knew  him ;  and  if 
of  her,  should  he  not  be  a  king  in  Jewry  ?  Re- 
membering the  consternation  wrought  by  his  sing- 
ing at  Plessy,  she  pondered  this  and  other  things 
night  after  night. 

"She  got  everything  out  of  him  in  the  dark, 
even  his  devotion  to  Persilla.  She  was  desper- 
ately curious  about  this;  but  jealous  as  she  knew 
herself  to  be,  to  the  point  of  venomous  hatred  of 
the  child,  she  did  not  seek  —  as  yet  —  to  make 
Gervase  deny  her.  Perhaps  she  feared  that  this 
might  be  above  her  force ;  at  any  rate  she  con- 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  163 

tented  herself  with  probing  the  hurt  it  gave. 
Gervase  owned  to  considering  Persilla  '  in  a  dif- 
ferent way ; '  he  thought  her  of  different  stuff 
from  his  own  flesh ;  her  texture  was  that  of  angels ; 
he  spoke  of  her  in  a  whisper.  Persilla  could  not, 
he  said,  be  supposed  to  love  him ;  the  thought  was 
foolishness.  Some  day  he  might  do  that  which 
would  move  her  to  pity  him,  and  then  —  and  then 
—  here  he  sighed.  His  devotion  to  the  little 
peasant  had  aged  him ;  it  had  given  a  mannish 
reserve  to  his  eyes,  perhaps  pushed  the  down 
on  his  chin.  If  these  achievements  were  in  him, 
they  were  Persilla's  doing ;  neither  the  work  of 
the  night  of  torment,  nor  of  Sornia  the  childless 
woman.  So  much  Sornia  owned  to,  and  was 
driven  back  on  the  only  comfort  she  had ;  this, 
namely,  that  Gervase  was  still  boy  and  not  man. 
He  had  no  thought  of  Persilla  which  was  not 
exalted ;  she  had  taught  him  to  feed  on  air  and 
relish  no  other  food.  Persilla  (he  told  Sornia) 
was  a  girl  of  station.  Gervase  knew  quite  well 
what  was  due  to  her,  what  to  himself,  what  to  the 
providence  of  Heaven  which  had  blazed  upon  him 
the  miracle  she  was.  Great  deeds  must  be  done, 
giants  fought,  or  perhaps  dragons  and  other  bale- 
ful worms ;  long  pains  must  be  met  and  overcome, 
to  which  his  late  experience  in  Jewry  was  but  the 
prelude ;  there  must  be  sea  voyages,  he  supposed  ; 
perilous  journeyings  in  desert  places,  forest  nights 
and  days ;  these,  with  many  more  undertakings 
of  the  sort,  might  suffice  him  for  a  kiss  of  Persilla's 
fingers.  To  win  more  than  this,  or  ask  more,  was 
a  thing  not  safely  to  be  thought  of ;  no  honourable 
lover  went  further.  Sornia's  love,  not  at  all  of 


1 64  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

this  kind,  bade  her  be  comforted. .  She  was  able  to 
relinquish  her  claims  by  day  with  a  better  grace. 
"  Torment  came  quickly  from  another  quarter : 
no  rest  for  the  likes  of  Sornia.  News  of  hue  and 
cry  after  Gervase  was  brought  in  by  Persilla's 
father,  who  had  been  to  Dunham  Market  and 
heard  strange  tales  from  Plessy,  how  Jews  were 
in  prison,  and  people  hunting  for  the  lad  high 
and  low.  *  Go  you  home,  my  woman,'  said  he  to 
Sornia,  '  comfort  your  mother  and  father,  as  right 
is.  If  they  think  to  have  lost  son  and  daughter 
at  once,  it  is  a  grievous  thing,  and  if  kept  awake 
by  your  doing,  a  sinful  thing.  Fear  nothing  of 
the  Jews,  for  Plessy  gaol  is  a  wondrous  soother  of 
wicked  desires.  Go  you  home  to  your  mother, 
my  woman,  and  take  the  lad  with  you.'  If  Sornia 
was  to  keep  this  new  child  she  had  dared  so  much 
to  win,  something  she  must  do  and  soon ;  but 
what  under  the  sky  ?  Here  you  have  her  between 
the  prongs  of  a  fork.  If  she  hid  Gervase  with 
her  in  the  fens,  sooner  or  later  as  he  grew  to  be 
man,  he  would  find  Persilla  by  the  leading  of 
desire ;  if  she  took  him  home  to  Plessy,  he  would 
be  his  blood-mother's  by  right  of  the  womb  and 
the  pap.  One  way  or  another,  the  flesh  must 
have  him  and  she  go  bare.  As  she  peered  miser- 
ably after  her  fate  in  the  dark,  she  wondered,  is 
there  no  other  title  to  another's  soul  ?  Are  flesh- 
bonds  all?  No,  no.  There  is  one  other:  the 
church-bond.  What  if  she  by  virtue  of  the 
power  over  Gervase  she  had,  the  power  of  one 
who  works  by  night,  took  him  back  to  Plessy,  to 
her  own  people,  made  him  of  the  Covenant,  got 
him  owned  for  king?  Agonizing  alone  in  the 


THE  PRIORESS'  TALE  165 

daytime,  she  leapt  after  that  night-thought,  and 
saw  her  safety  there. 

"  By  night  Gervase  was  still  hers.  Every  night 
he  lay  rapt  in  her  arms,  hers  in  life  and  death 
and  earthly  member.  He  kissed  her  as  she  bid 
him,  or  lay  still,  called  her  mother  and  mother 
again,  answered  all  her  questions,  promised  her 
all  obedience  —  and  did  it  —  or  sang  to  her  with- 
out end  with  a  voice  that  never  seemed  to  tire. 
So  after  Vexilla  regis  prodeunt,  which  ravished 
her  quite  by  its  triumphant  notes,  that  same  night 
she  spoke  to  him,  asking,  '  Art  thou  my  own  son, 
Gervase?'  And  he  said,  'Yes,  Sornia.' 

"  *  Thou  carest  nothing  for  thy  mother  at 
Plessy?' 

"  Says  he,  '  You  say  you  are  my  mother  now.' 

"She  felt  the  sting  of  her  own  lie,  knowing 
very  well  that  the  great  testimony  of  motherhood 
was  not  in  her  bestowal,  since  she  could  not  let 
him  go.  But  she  asked  again,  '  There  is  no  love 
in  thee  now  for  little  Persilla  ? ' 

"  He  said,  with  a  catch  in  his  throat,  '  Not  by 
night,  oh,  not  by  night!  Persilla  is  different. 
She  is  of  the  day,  but  thou  of  the  night,  Sornia.' 

"  *  Yes,  yes,  I  know  it,'  she  said  hardly ;  '  I  am 
of  the  night  and  work  in  the  night.  So  I 
wrought  for  thee  when  I  saved  thee  from  the 
cross,  and  so  now  when  I  seek  to  save  myself 
from  it.'  She  hugged  him  close.  '  O  Gervase, 
O  Gervase,'  she  whispered  to  him,  *  wilt  thou  do 
my  will  ? ' 

"  He  murmured  faintly, '  If  it  be  lawful,  Sornia.' 

" '  Eh,'  she  said,  '  it  is  above  the  law.  All 
things  shall  be  lawful  to  thee  if  I  have  my  way.' 


1 66  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

" '  What  is  your  way  ? '  asks  Gervase ;  and  she 
told  him,  '  It  is  the  way  of  kingship.' 

" '  Kingship  ? '  says  he. 

" '  Kingship,'  says  she.  '  I  desire  thee  to  be  king 
of  the  Jews.'  Gervase  laughed,  ill  at  ease. 

"  *  Oh,'  says  he,  '  that  is  a  strange  thing  to  be.' 

" '  It  is  a  very  easy  thing  for  thee,  my  lamb,' 
she  said,  '  if  thou  wilt  do  my  bidding,  and  be  sub- 
ject to  me  in  all  things.  And  first,  we  must  leave 
soon,  and  by  night.' 

"  Gervase  said  nothing  for  awhile,  and  even 
while  she  urged  him  would  not  declare  for  or 
against  her  wishes.  For  this  Sornia  cared  very 
little,  since  she  intended  to  go  by  night.  She 
knew  he  would  go  with  her  at  that  season ;  and 
Gervase  knew  that  he  would  have  to  go.  Next 
morning  she  saw  him  follow  Persilla  into  the 
fields  after  the  cows ;  she  saw  them  talk  with  their 
heads  close  together;  after  that,  as  she  fancied, 
the  girl  was  gentler  with  Gervase,  and  more  sub- 
dued at  home.  How  this  might  or  might  not  be 
she  cared  little ;  the  prospect  tempted  her  to  be 
contented  at  last.  She  fixed  her  night  for  going 
at  about  the  sixth  week  after  the  passion  of  Ger- 
vase ;  and  before  she  went  sent  a  message  to  one 
in  Plessy  whom  she  could  trust,  that  all  the  Jews 
were  to  be  in  the  synagogue  on  a  certain  even- 
ing named,  to  see  what  they  should  see,  what  they 
had  hoped  for,  but  had  grown  faint  to  expect. 
Then,  the  day  before  she  must  set  out,  she  hid 
herself  behind  a  dyke,  and  watched  Gervase  take 
leave  of  Persilla  in  the  open  field.  She  could 
not  hear  what  was  said,  but  after  a  little  she  saw 
Gervase  spring  forward  and  snatch  at  the  hem  of 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  167 

Persilla's  smock  to  kiss  it.  Then  also  she  saw 
Persilla  snatch  it  back  again,  and  Gervase  look 
wretched,  and  go,  leaving  her  alone.  She  watched 
the  girl  sit  plucking  the  grass,  saw  her  tears  fall. 
'  Let  her  cry,'  said  Sornia  to  herself.  '  What  else 
have  I  done  all  my  days  but  pray  for  tears  ? ' 

"  Gervase  had  said  to  Persilla,  *  I  must  go  away 
to-night.' 

"  She  said,  '  Well  ?' 

"  His  eyes  flickered.  '  It  shall  be  well.  When 
you  see  me  again,  Persilla,  you  will  think  better 
of  me  than  now  you  do.' 

" '  May  be,'  she  said. 

'"I  go  to  Plessy,'  says  Gervase ;  and,  finding 
her  cold,  '  you  shall  hear  of  me  there.' 

" '  May  be,'  said  Persilla  again. 

" '  But  whatever  I  do,  however  honestly  or 
greatly,'  says  Gervase,  'wit  you  well,  Persilla,  it 
shall  be  done  for  the  love  of  you.' 

'"How  shall  I  know  that  ? '  she  asked  him. 

" '  Why,  thus,'  says  Gervase,  and  caught  her 
gown  from  her  fingers,  and  kissed  the  hem  of  it. 
She  whipt  it  back  again,  but  never  looked  at  him. 
Gervase,  after  a  time  of  fond  irresolution,  lip- 
wetting  and  such  like,  threw  up  his  head,  look- 
ing mannish.  '  Fare  you  well,  Persilla,'  he  said 
huskily.  '  I  love  you,  but  choose  not  to  speak 
of  that  until  I  can  prove  my  words.'  Still  she 
would  not  look  at  him,  but  rather  at  her  fingers 
fiddling  with  the  smock's  edge. 

" '  Fare  you  well,  Persilla,'  he  said  again. 

" '  Good-bye,  Gervase,'  said  she.  When  he  was 
gone  she  sat  lonely  in  the  field  and  began  to  cry. 
Oh,  sex  of  mine,  so  foolish  and  so  fond ! 


168  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  He  went  away  meekly  in  the  night  with 
Sornia ;  who  brought  him  into  Plessy  by  water  as 
he  had  gone  out.  He  met  once  more  the  horrid 
wetness  of  the  vault  where  the  Jews  had  tortured 
him ;  and  here  he  must  bide  till  the  next  day  with 
such  comfort  as  Sornia  could  give  him.  As  she 
bid  him,  he  helped  her  to  remove  the  flag-stone 
which  gave  on  to  the  upper  room;  and  he  had  no 
misgivings,  but  rather  seemed  in  an  apathy,  until 
late  in  the  evening  of  the  day  when  he  heard  over- 
head the  trampling  of  many  feet,  and  a  shuffling 
(as  of  innumerable  slippers)  on  the  pavement,  so 
guessed  that  the  scene  of  his  old  suffering  was  fill- 
ing again.  Then  he  turned  suddenly  and  caught 
at  Sornia's  breast.  '  Oh,  Sornia ! '  he  said,  breath- 
less, '  not  again,  please,  not  again ! '  She  kissed 
him  fondly.  '  My  lamb,  my  lamb,'  she  assured 
him,  '  trust  me.  It  will  be  vastly  different  now. 
Trust  me,  Gervase.  I  have  never  failed  you  yet. 
Do  all  that  I  tell  you  from  point  to  point,  and  the 
cup  of  your  honour  will  be  full.  Will  you  do  it, 
my  lamb?  I  ask  of  you  but  a  little  thing.'  It 
was  dark  in  the  vault,  the  night  was  upon  him 
and  the  spell  of  Sornia's  power,  but  as  from  a 
little  ray  of  light  came  a  day-thought  to  him. 
'  For  the  love  of  Persilla ! '  it  was ;  so  Gervase 
looked  up,  saying,  '  Do  your  pleasure,  Sornia.' 
The  room  above  was  all  hushed.  Sornia  stripped 
him  of  his  clothes,  and  made  him  put  on  the  red 
robe  and  white  girdle  he  had  worn  before.  '  Fol- 
low me,'  she  said  then,  and  went  up  the  ladder 
into  the  apse  of  the  hall.  Great  drawn  curtains 
hid  them  from  what  was  beyond;  the  hush  held  all; 
yet  Gervase's  heart  beat  high,  and  Sornia  heard  it 


THE   PRIORESS'   TALE  169 

thudding.  She  put  her  finger  to  her  lip  as  if  to 
stay  even  that  muffled  sound.  Presently  then, 

"  '  Sing,  Gervase,'  said  she. 

"  Out  of  that  empty  place,  towards  the  breath- 
less company,  whose  faces,  whose  numbers,  whose 
expectancy  he  knew  nothing  of,  the  voice  of  Ger- 
vase poured  rich  and  fast  as  the  honey-gouts  from 
a  nightingale's  throat,  the  flood  of  sound,  the 
gathered  strength,  the  terror  and  the  boding  of 
Dies  Irce ;  and  all  the  Jews  scuttled  together  like 
rabbits  in  a  close,  and  gripped  at  each  other  by 
the  cloak. 

" '  Dies  irae,  dies  ilia, 
Solvet  saeclum  in  favilla, 
Teste  David  cum  Sibylla,' 

sang  the  boy,  with  the  voice  of  women  hurt  by 
a  sword ;  and  pausing  (as  he  had  been  taught) 
before  the  third  stave,  let  loose  for  that  a  hollow, 
fluting  and  lonely  note,  like  a  clarion  that  warns 
a  valley  from  the  hill-top  — 

"  '  Tuba  mirum  spargens  sonum 
Per  sepulchra  regionum, 
Coget  omnes  ante  thronum '  — 

under  which  the  Jews  lay  prone  and  still.  But 
they  shuddered  and  smote  their  foreheads  at  the 
wailing  of  Quid  sum  miser ;  and  to  the  sweet 
cajolery  of 

" '  Recordare,  Jesu  pie, 
Quod  sum  causa  tuae  vise ; 
Ne  me  perdas  ilia  die  '  — 

they  lifted  up  their  arms  with  one  accord,  and  all 
their  anguish  and  apprehension  escaped  in  the 
flutter  of  a  long  sigh. 


170  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  Gervase  sang  the  great  hymn  like  one  inspired 
from  Heaven.  The  Ingemisco,  the  terrible  Confu- 
tatis,  Oro  supplex  the  pitiful,  the  Lacrymosa,  which 
would  have  melted  a  mountain  of  ice  —  all  the 
great  hymn  down  to  the  prayer  of  Huic  ergo, 
where  it  ends  in  the  whisper  of  contented  faith, 
Dona  eis  requiem !  he  sang :  and  at  this  calm 
close  Sornia  went  swiftly  to  the  heavy  curtains 
and  pulled  them  apart  with  a  fierce  gesture. 
There  they  saw  Gervase  in  his  red  robe,  stand- 
ing erect  and  clear;  saw  him,  knew  him,  and 
remembered. 

" '  You  Jews,'  said  Sornia,  biting  the  words, 
'  look  upon  him  whom  you  pierced,  who  has  now 
pierced  you  by  means  of  that  deathless  part  he 
has  —  and  answer  me  now.  Will  you  own  him 
for  your  king  ? ' 

"  But  the  Jews  seemed  not  to  hear  her,  but 
they  rather  huddled  together  like  sheep,  not  mov- 
ing their  eyes  off  Gervase,  who  stood  lightly 
there,  obedient,  easily  disposed,  ready  to  sing 
again,  assured.  At  a  sign  from  Sornia  he  began 
a  new  song,  lifting  up  his  head  like  one  glory- 
ing in  thought  and  music  together :  '  Salve,  capui 
cruentatum]  it  was ;  and  the  Jews  trembled. 
Some  shook  their  heads,  with  hands  held  up  to 
deprecate,  and  some  rocked  about  because  they 
could  not  weep,  and  some  lay  still  on  the  floor, 
cowering  before  a  vision  of  the  Last  Things. 
Once  more  he  sang  —  that  old  sequence  which 
begins,  Ecce  sacerdos  magnus ;  but  Sornia  stopped 
him  in  the  middle,  because  she  saw  that  red 
Malachi  was  prepared  to  speak  and  because  she 
wished  to  give  him  something  to  speak  of.  The 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  171 

hour  of  her  triumph  was  at  hand,  the  wine  of  it 
thrilled  her  voice,  lit  her  pale  eyes. 

" '  O  Jews,'  she  cried  out,  '  behold  your  king, 
who  has  overcome  death  and  you  together.  Bind 
him  king  unto  you  by  a  crown  instead  of  a  cross, 
and  yourselves  unto  him  by  the  Covenant.  Bring 
the  knife  and  the  napkin,  for  he  is  content  to  obey 
the  Law,  that  you  may  know  he  is  above  the  Law.' 
Malachi  was  crawling  along  the  floor  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  while  all  the  others  watched  him.  He 
crept  so  up  to  Gervase,  and  touched  his  hands 
and  feet  where  the  white  scars  shone.  Then  he 
turned  suddenly  with  a  shout,  and  leaped  back 
into  the  body  of  the  hall,  which  surged  about 
him,  alive  with  men.  '  Listen,  O  you  people ! ' 
he  raved,  hoarse  as  a  hog,  'this  is  a  true  thing, 
we  have  proved  it  true,  by  which  all  hangs,  the 
doctrine  and  the  hope,  the  faith  and  the  baptism 
and  means  of  defence.  Go  you  up,  touch 
him  and  see.  We  gloried  in  him,  we  saw  him 
lovely  and  without  spot.  Yet  we  dared  to  try  him, 
hang  him  up,  leave  him  to  die.  Oh,  impiety  of 
our  unbelief!  Oh,  unregenerate  still!  But  he  was 
content  to  suffer,  he  was  meek,  he  hung  and  he 
died ;  and  now  is  come  again  more  glorious  than 
before,  with  the  marks  of  his  torment  gleaming 
like  stars.  See,  try,  probe  for  yourselves,  and 
then  follow  me,  and  confess  him  for  king.' 

" Sornia  laughed  from  a  full  throat.  'Are  you 
satisfied  at  last,  O  Malachi  ? '  she  asked ;  and 
Malachi  said  awfully,  '  I  am  satisfied.  Now  I  shall 
become  a  Christian  man.'  So  said  all  the  Jews 
with  tears.  They  flocked  about  Gervase,  hailing 
him  as  king;  then  with  one  consent  ran  clam- 


172  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

orous  through  Plessy  to  the  house  of  the  Bishop. 
Sornia  sat  alone  on  the  floor  of  the  synagogue, 
Gervase  beside  her:  but  she  could  get  no  speech 
out  of  him,  and  her  power  seemed  to  be  going, 
though  it  was  still  night. 

"  To  the  great  concourse  of  Jews,  '  How  is  this, 
dogs  ? '  said  the  Bishop,  very  cross. 

" '  My  lord,'  said  Malachi,  '  if  you  please,  there 
are  no  dogs  left  in  Plessy.  We  have  seen  with 
our  proper  eyes  the  truth  of  what  your  religion 
reports.  To-morrow  you  shall  baptize  us  all. 
Jewry  is  emptied  of  unbelief.' 

" '  By  no  means  to-morrow,'  said  the  Bishop, 
'but  on  the  day  of  Pentecost,  a  fitting  day  for 
this  holy  business.  But  first  I  will  hear  the 
grounds  of  so  pious  an  act.' 

"When  he  had  heard  it,  he  was  greatly  astonished. 
He  sent  for  Gervase  at  once,  to  be  lodged  with  him 
in  his  house  and  not  seen  of  any  until  the  rite  was 
done.  He  sent  word  to  Monthermer,  to  Gervase's 
parents,  to  all  others  concerned.  He  made  full 
preparations  for  this  great  and  wonderful  baptism, 
believing  with  Malachi  that  by  its  means  he  would 
empty  Jewry.  Yet  with  Malachi  he  was  wrong. 
There  was  one  Jew  left :  Sornia,  with  a  gnawed 
heart,  childless  as  at  first,  hopeless,  quite  alone; 
Sornia,  who  had  supposed  that  love  asked  again 
of  the  beloved. 

"  On  the  day  of  Pentecost  following,  after  the 
solemn  Missa  de  Spiritu  Sancto,  sung  by  the 
Bishop  of  Plessy  himself,  there  stood  up  Gervase 
in  the  sanctuary,  vested  like  a  bishop  in  a  white 
silk  cope  and  mitre,  holding  a  pastoral  staff,  upon 


THE  PRIORESS'  TALE  173 

the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  a  blue  ring.  But 
his  hands  had  no  gloves,  nor  were  there  any  slip- 
pers on  his  scarred  feet.  King  of  the  Jews,  the 
Jews  of  Plessy  confessed  him,  weeping  and  laugh- 
ing at  once  as  they  knelt  at  his  knee.  His  first 
kingly  act  was  to  order  that  the  gates  of  Jewry 
should  be  cast  down  and  burned  —  and  this  was 
shortly  done.  Sornia,  too,  was  in  the  church, 
who  neither  laughed  nor  could  weep,  but  felt  the 
knife  griding  in  her  heart,  and  knew  now  the 
depth  and  height  of  her  tragic  folly.  She  had 
feared  the  mother  of  Gervase,  and  the  desire  of 
Gervase;  she  had  esteemed  the  Church-bond  a 
light  thing  and  measured  strength  with  that. 
Now  she  knew  how  light  it  was. 

"  When  all  the  Jews  had  been  baptized,  at  the 
going-out  from  church  in  pompous  procession 
there  was  seen  a  little  shrinking  brown-faced  girl 
with  hair  like  a  gold  sheet  over  her  back.  She 
was  clad  in  a  coarse  cotton  shift  such  as  country 
children  wear,  and  had  bare  brown  legs  and  arms. 
It  so  happened  that  she  stood  on  the  edge  of  the 
crowd  hard  by  Sornia,  who  was  deeply  hooded. 
Seeing  her  as  he  passed,  Gervase  (for  all  his  stiff 
sacro-sanctity)  stood  still.  Sornia  saw  his  mouth 
twitch,  heard  what  he  said,  though  he  whispered 
it  below  his  breath.  She  went  by  the  shaping  of 
his  lips :  '  Oh,  Persilla ! '  was  all ;  and  then  he  was 
pushed  on  in  procession.  Persilla  limped  after 
him,  holding  her  rags  over  her  neck.  One  of 
her  feet  had  been  cut  by  a  stone,  and  bled  as 
she  went.  Afterwards  Sornia  saw  her  crouched 
against  the  great  steps  of  the  Bishop's  house,  on 
the  ground,  by  the  lowest  step  of  all.  The  child 


174  NEW   CANTERBURY  TALES 

was  looking  at  her  hurt  foot ;  and  some  venom  in 
the  galled  woman  prompted  her  to  draw  near  when 
no  one  else  was  by. 

" '  Ah,  Persilla,  do  you  bleed  for  him  whom  you 
scorned  ? '  she  said.  '  So  do  I  bleed,  who  saved, 
never  scorned  him.' 

"  Persilla  lifted  her  young  head. 

" '  I  never  scorned  Gervase,'  she  said.  '  I  loved 
him.  He  knows  that  now.  He  saw  me  here.' 

" '  How  will  that  help  you,  little  fool,'  cried  the 
other,  '  when  the  Church  has  him  fast  ? ' 

"  '  I  don't  understand  you,'  said  Persilla.  '  He 
is  made  glorious.  They  will  make  him  a  saint, 
and  I  shall  be  happy,  because  I  love  him.' 

"  '  Do  you  call  that  love  ? '  asked  Sornia. 

"  '  I  don't  know,'  said  Persilla.  Sornia  dragged 
herself  away,  and  sat  on  a  doorstep  to  watch  the 
Bishop's  house.  While  she  was  there,  a  man  and 
woman  passed  by  her,  their  children,  three  grown 
daughters  and  two  young  boys,  with  them.  The 
woman  was  highly  exalted,  speaking  very  fast. 

" '  I  tell  you,  master,  I  give  him  gladly ! '  she 
cried.  '  What  honour  to  our  name !  What  honour 
to  this  old  bosom  of  mine,  to  have  suckled  a  saint ! 
Never  talk  to  me  of  my  title,  my  claim !  Our 
Gervase  a  Saint  of  the  Church !  Glory  and  thanks 
be  to  God  my  Saviour,  I  say.  And  so  should  you 
say,  master,  or  it  is  to  your  shame.' 

"  The  man  grunted,  but  the  woman's  voice  flew 
behind  her  in  a  streamer  of  pride  as  the  party  went 
their  ways  to  the  Bishop's  house.  Sornia  knew 
them  for  the  father  and  mother  of  Gervase.  So  his 
parents  gave  thanks,  his  sweetheart  gave  thanks  for 
the  Church's  robbery  ?  But  Sornia  had  no  thanks 


THE  PRIORESS'  TALE  175 

to  give ;  but  tasted  the  salt  as  it  surged  up  into 
her  mouth. 

"At  a  conclave  held  after  dinner  the  Bishop 
gave  it  as  his  opinion,  that  Gervase  was  holy  de 
substantia^  as  good  as  canonized  already.  '  For,' 
said  he, '  if  a  young  boy,  mero  motu  ejus,  can  turn 
the  wicked  hearts  of  so  many  Jews,  what  might 
he  not  turn  when  he  should  be  fortified  by  age,  by 
holy  living,  and  the  prayers  of  all  the  faithful  in 
communion  with  the  Faith  ? '  There  was  no  an- 
swer to  this.  He  went  on  to  say,  that  it  behoved 
the  Church  to  keep  Gervase,  as  to  the  accidents 
(if  so  he  might  put  it),  apart  from  defilement.  In 
his  judgment,  he  should  inhabit  the  hermit's  cell 
by  the  Chapel  on  Lene  Bridge  —  there  are  two 
such  cells  on  the  bridge,  but  that  by  the  Chapel 
is  much  the  larger  —  to  be  a  living  light  and  en- 
sample  to  all  Christians,  and  to  all  Jews,  if  there 
should  be  any  more.  Pilgrims  would  come  from 
many  lands,  much  edification  ensue.  To  this  the 
Mayor,  having  the  advantage  of  the  town  stead- 
fastly before  his  eyes,  gladly  consented ;  adding, 
that  the  Commonalty,  out  of  the  town  chest, 
would  repair  and  make  habitable  that  hermitage, 
which  had  been  long  —  too  long  —  neglected. 
Meantime  he  submitted  to  his  Grace,  whether 
Gervase  should  not  be  in  the  Sacrist's  lodging 
in  the  Cathedral  Close? 

" '  He  shall  live  with  me,'  cried  the  Bishop,  '  my 
honoured  guest ! ' 

"  So  it  was  arranged ;  and  the  parents,  the 
brothers  and  sisters  of  Gervase  were  allowed  to 
kiss  him  if  they  would.  His  father  would  not, 
it  appears ;  but  his  mother  kissed  his  hand,  not 


1 76  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

being  worthy  (as  she  declared)  of  nearer  approach ; 
and  his  brothers  and  sisters,  one  by  one,  knelt 
before  him,  as  Gervase  laid  his  hand  upon  their 
heads  in  turn.  After  this  ceremony,  performed 
as  it  was  with  great  dignity,  the  company  dis- 
persed ;  and  the  girl  and  the  woman,  Persilla  and 
Sornia,  were  left  with  the  street  to  themselves. 
There  they  sat  apart  while  the  dusk  gathered 
about  them. 

"  Very  late  in  the  evening,  the  Bishop's  door 
opened,  and  Gervase,  looking  tall,  apparelled  all 
in  white,  came  out  on  to  the  steps.  Persilla 
looked  up  but  did  not  move.  Sornia  watched 
from  across  the  way. 

"  '  Persilla,'  said  the  boy. 

" '  Yes,  Gervase.' 

" '  I  am  worthy  of  you  now.' 

" '  O  Gervase ! '  She  got  up  and  went  towards 
him.  His  finger  touched  his  lip. 

"'Hush,  my  dear.  I  may  not  love  you  now. 
But  you  may  love  me.'  Persilla  held  up  her 
arms  to  him. 

" '  I  do  love  you,  oh,  I  do !  I  always  loved 
you ! '  she  cried  with  sobs. 

" '  Then  do  my  will,'  said  Gervase.  '  I  am  to 
live  in  the  chapel  hermitage  on  Lene  Bridge.  Do 
you  live  in  the  other  and  be  a  saint  like  me.  We 
may  love  safely  then ;  for  we  shall  each  be  holy. 
Will  you  do  this,  Persilla,  in  God's  name  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  Gervase,'  said  Persilla ;  '  but  once  you 
shall  kiss  me.'  He  drew  back. 

" '  Oh,  no,'  he  said,  '  I  dare  not.  It  would  be 
a  sin.' 

"  So  then  she  turned  away  her  head,  and  im- 


THE   PRIORESS'  TALE  177 

mediately  he  was  down  the  steps  to  her  level, 
close  to  her,  and  had  her  small  face  cupped  in 
his  two  brown  hands. 

" '  Look  at  me,  Persilla,  look  at  me/  he  said. 
1  Against  my  thought  I  was  made  holy ;  but  the 
thing  is  done,  and  it  is  glorious,  I  believe.  So 
many  Jews !  Many  have  been  made  saints  for 
less;  but  I  see  plainly  that  saintly  I  must  live 
and  saintly  die,  lest  God  be  proved  mistaken  in 
me.  And  oh,  my  dear,  be  thou  saintly  too !  Face 
to  face  on  the  bridge,  we  shall  see  each  other ;  so, 
perhaps,  side  by  side  we  shall  lie  in  grave,  and 
side  by  side  win  Heaven.  Shall  it  be,  Persilla  ? ' 

"  She  said,  '  Yes,  Gervase,'  and  quickly  and 
eagerly  he  kissed  her  once  ;  then  turned  and  went 
in.  Persilla  stood  hugging  herself  awhile  before 
she  walked  away  into  the  dark.  Then  she  walked 
directly  to  her  ruined  hermitage,  facing  Gervase's 
on  the  bridge,  and  there  stayed  immovable.  Sornia 
was  left  alone. 

"  Those  two  hermitages  on  Lene  Bridge  with 
their  two  young  tenants  were  the  standing  wonder 
of  twice  two  shires.  Pilgrims  came  from  oversea, 
many  cures  were  wrought,  things  stupendous  and 
(to  this  our  unhappy  age)  well-nigh  incredible  were 
done.  Call  nothing,  however,  incredible.  Saints 
Gervase  and  Persilla  were  lights  to  their  day,  and 
may  be  (for  all  we  know)  lights  to  our  sons'  day. 
Why  not?  If  simple  lives  lived  simply,  and  inno- 
cent deeds  done  single-mindedly,  or  pure  motions 
which  spring  from  honest  beliefs  can  ensure  saint- 
ship,  then  Saint  Persilla,  then  Saint  Gervase,  may 
well  have  their  crowns.  They  knew  no  better  and 
did  no  evil,  either  of  them.  But  the  greater  was 


1 78  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Saint   Gervase,  who  converted  all  the   Jews    in 
Plessy  by  mere  simplicity." 

This  pleasant,  edifying  tale  from  the  Lady 
Prioress  brought  forth  emotions  of  various  kinds 
out  of  its  hearers.  Percival  was  grateful  to  his 
mistress  for  her  justification  of  his  singing  voice ; 
Mawdleyn  Touchett,  whether  she  saw  herself  in 
the  part  of  Persilla  or  not,  displayed  Persilla's 
soft  rapture  in  her  speaking  face ;  but  the  face  of 
Master  Richard  Smith  was  compact  of  winks  and 
incredulity.  "  I'll  not  deny  miraculous  fluting 
in  a  chit  of  a  boy,"  he  said  to  the  Scrivener,  as 
they  rode  together  snugly  under  the  green  hills 
of  Kent;  "but  you  are  not  to  tell  me  that  a 
long  person  of  this  Thrustwood's  inches  hath 
the  twitter  of  a  girl  in  his  gullet  for  nothing. 
No,  no,  by  Saint  John  of  Beverley,  I  know  bet- 
ter." The  Scrivener  replied  that  he  also  knew 
much  better,  and  what  he  knew  would  impart  to 
the  Shipman  on  an  early  occasion.  He  added, 
that  the  Prioress'  tale,  saving  her  reverence,  was 
nothing  out  of  the  common,  since  he  had  acquired 
a  dozen  of  the  sort  in  the  course  of  learning  his 
letters.  Three  or  four  of  these  he  offered  to 
relate  then  and  there  to  his  good  friend.  "  For 
here  we  are  at  Wrotham  town,"  says  he,  "  and  a 
fair  ten  miles  before  us  if  we  are  to  arrive  at 
Boxley  this  night.  That  is  a  long  road  to  travel, 
at  past  noon,  mind  you." 

"  You  shall  tell  me  your  tales,  Master  Corbet," 
said  the  Shipman,  "  when  we  are  stretching  our 
legs  by  the  Abbot  of  Boxley 's  wood  fire.  Just 
now  I  am  not  easy  in  my  mind  for  thinking  of 


THE   PRIORESS'   TALE  179 

that  Thrustwood  who  comes  from  Glo'ster  with- 
out a  Glo'ster  name  —  and  there's  the  truth,  if 
you  must  have  it." 

"  I  can  make  you  easier  on  that  score,"  replied 
the  Scrivener ;  "  for  I  know  more  about  him  than 
you  do.  Know  then " 

But  what  the  Scrivener  had  to  say  of  Percival 
Perceforest  is  out  of  the  tale,  as  the  Saga-men  say. 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE 

WHAT  the  Scrivener  said  to  the  Shipman  over- 
night sank  in  deep  water  and  sent  up  bubbles. 
So  soon  as  the  pilgrims  were  fairly  on  the  chalk 
road  which  takes  you  out  of  Boxley,  Smith  claimed 
the  right  to  be  heard. 

"  Madam,"  he  said  to  the  Prioress,  "  let  the  tale 
be  mine  this  day.  Believe  me,  I  have  a  design  in 
asking."  So  said,  he  looked  shrewdly  at  Percival, 
who  avoided  him. 

The  Prioress  was  gracious  enough  to  allow 
his  plea.  "  The  design  we  shall  look  for,  Master 
Smith,"  said  she,  "  must  be  in  the  tale,  if  you 
please,  and  no  deeper  in  you  than  to  make  you 
our  entertainer." 

"  Content  you,  madam,  content  you,"  replied  the 
Shipman.  "  I  will  entertain  you  liberally  —  and 
older  friends  than  your  ladyship  —  if  I  am  spared 
to  see  the  Head  of  Thomas." 

Thereupon  he  began  his  discourse,  which  he 
called 

THE  CAST  OF  THE  APPLE 

"  If  the  old  Romancers  are  to  be  believed,"  he 
said,  "  the  ways  of  lovers  were  not  so  diverse  as 
you  might  have  supposed.  For  however  fondly 
they  loved,  whether  out  of  measure  or  within  it, 
when  occasion  was  that  faith  should  be  tried  or 

183 


1 84  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

danger  averted  by  means  of  disguise;  however 
simple  that  disguise  might  be,  one  person  was 
always  deceived  by  it :  I  mean  the  lover.  So  in 
the  tale  of  young  Paris,  loving  the  fair  Vienne, 
the  Dauphin's  daughter  of  Auvergne;  whom  a 
king's  son  also  loved.  Now  Paris  had  been 
banished  for  his  presumption,  and  Vienne,  be- 
cause she  would  not  consider  the  case  of  her 
royal  lover,  cast  into  prison.  But  it  is  well  known 
how,  by  means  of  an  old  hen  under  her  arm,  she 
deceived  the  king's  son ;  and  how  again  Paris, 
having  performed  prodigies  in  the  Holy  Land, 
returning  to  Auvergne,  deceived  her  in  her  turn 
with  no  more  disguise  than  a  palmer's  gown  and 
cockle. 

"  So  Flors  was  brought  to  his  mistress  Blanca- 
fior  in  a  basket  of  greenstuff,  and  the  Soldan  of 
Babylon,  who  loved  her  as  much  as  ever  he  did, 
seeing  the  pair  asleep,  lightly  believed  them  to 
be  sisters  and  was  made  a  Christian  at  the  first 
glance. 

"  But  I  have  a  case  where  there  was  more  excuse 
for  the  lover.  Here  he  was  deceived  from  the 
beginning.  He  loved,  but  knew  not  whom  he 
loved ;  he  sought,  he  found,  but  could  not  tell 
whether  what  he  sought  had  been  found,  or  what 
he  found  sought.  His  device,  whereby  at  last  he 
was  made  sure,  is  a  good  one.  It  was  adopted,  as 
no  doubt  you  remember,  by  the  notable  Captain 
Ulysses  on  a  famous  occasion.  This  lover  of  mine, 
called  Sagramor,  was  younger  brother  of  Sir  Belem 
of  the  Red  Fell —  the  second  of  three,  whereof  the 
third  and  youngest  was  Sir  Herlouin.  I  see  him 
a  tall,  sanguine-hued  young  man  with  a  pointed 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  185 

beard,  a  singing  voice  and  generous  eyes.  I  know 
he  had  a  great  heart  and  am  sure  he  was  a  lover 
by  predisposition,  because  his  name  in  chivalry 
was  Le  Bel  Enemy.  All  students  of  this  exact 
and  elegant  science  will  understand  the  import  of 
such  a  name.  It  meant  that  his  comeliness  made 
Sagramor  the  foe  of  his  friends,  his  generosity  the 
friend  of  his  enemies.  No  handsomer  thing  could 
be  said  of  any  man.  It  was,  in  fact,  found  too 
handsome  by  the  elder,  Sir  Belem,  who  at  the 
time  this  tale  begins  had  banished  his  brother. 
"  Sir  Belem  of  the  Red  Fell  was  lord  of  thirty 
valleys  in  the  County  of  Salop,  with  a  tower  at  the 
head  of  each.  Chirk  was  his,  and  Chirbury,  and 
all  the  black  lands  between  Rhiw  and  Berriew, 
rivers  of  North  Wales ;  of  Clun  Forest  he  had  as 
much  as  was  good  for  him  and  more  than  was 
good  for  many.  The  king  believed  him  a  great 
bulwark  of  the  Marches,  and  Belem  was  of  the 
same  mind :  to  that  end  he  chose  to  live  in  his 
Castle  of  the  Red  Fell,  whence  (like  an  eagle 
from  his  eyrie)  he  could  watch  in  fair  weather  the 
dominion  of  Wales,  the  broad  plains,  the  rivers, 
forests  and  girdling  mountains  of  that  unsubdued 
plot  of  earth.  Chiefly  he  could  see  —  as  he  most 
desired  —  Powys,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  'the  white 
stronghold  of  that  grim  old  vavasour  Sir  Caradoc ; 
I  mean  Sir  Caradoc  of  the  Graceless  Guard,  old 
in  years,  older  in  sin,  insatiably  proud,  who  had 
made  the  green  plain  a  haunt  of  dread,  and  the 
good  towns,  that  shone  once  like  eyes  in  a  fair 
face,  pools  of  restless  fear.  Sir  Belem,  a  tyrant  in 
his  own  way,  was  jealous  of  such  a  tyrant  as  that. 
Round  about  his  Graceless  Guard  Sir  Caradoc 


1 86  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

ruled  as  a  thief  may  rule  thieves.  '  Rob  me  and 
you  will  be  robbed,'  was  what  he  said  to  the  terre- 
tenants ;  and  they  knew  very  well,  without  dots  on 
the  i's,  that  he  was  their  only  stay  and  comfort 
against  the  English  barons  on  the  March  —  excel- 
lent thieves,  of  whom  Sir  Belem  (I  take  leave  to 
say)  was  one,  and  not  the  least  excellent.  So  the 
men  of  Powys,  lest  a  worse  thing  should  befall 
them,  suffered  the  old  land-pirate  Caradoc  to  pil- 
lage them  as  he  would  —  nim  and  his  seven  sons. 

"  Seven  sons  he  had,  no  fewer ;  and  that  was  the 
litter  upon  which  Sir  Belem  kept  his  weather-eye. 
They  were  cat-a-mountains  all,  a  vexed  brood, 
whose  names  were  these :  —  Gaunt,  and  Merlyn, 
and  Pereduc,  Ros,  and  Garyn,  and  Meskyn,  and 
young  Lewknor,  who  proved  the  hardiest;  hand- 
some tall  lads,  black-polled,  all  in  hue  fair  red  and 
white,  all  thieves,  all  great  lovers,  and  all  but  one 
damned.  You  will  hardly  ask  me  now  whether 
Sir  Caradoc's  lady  was  alive.  She  was  not,  but 
had  died  giving  birth  to  Lewknor  de  la  Garde,  to 
him  and  one  other  twin  with  him,  a  girl  called 
Audiart.  The  people  of  Powys  called  her  the 
Dark  Rose,  and  said  that  no  one  could  tell  her 
from  her  brother  Lewknor.  In  England  this  was 
held  to  imply  that  she  was  a  termagant ;  but  no 
reliance  can  be  put  upon  English  consideration  of 
the  matter,  since  Audiart  had  never  been  seen  over 
the  March,  unless  indeed  the  tale  be  true  that  she 
sometimes  rode  out  with  her  brothers  in  Lewk- 
nor's  clothes. 

"  Now,  in  the  days  when  Sir  Sagramor  of  the 
Red  Fell  first  went  over  sea,  and  when  Sir  Her- 
louin  was  a  growing  lad  at  the  Red  Fell,  one  from 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  187 

the  Graceless  Guard  (it  was  supposed,  Pereduc) 
stole  Sir  Belem's  wife  Helewise,  and  kept  her  five 
years  in  Wales  against  all  that  Sir  Belem  could 
do ;  after  which  time,  this  Pereduc  being  tired  of 
her,  she  was  ready  to  die,  and  did  die.  Sir  Belem 
said  little,  that  not  being  in  his  way,  but  he  did 
as  much  as  he  could,  and  pretty  well.  For  Dame 
Helewise  had  not  been  dead  more  than  a  year  and 
a  day  when,  as  he  was  hunting  a  stag,  he  came 
unawares  upon  three  of  his  enemies  —  Gaunt, 
Ros  and  Meskyn  de  la  Garde  —  lying  at  random 
in  a  grove  of  birch  trees  hard  by  a  fair  stream. 
Gaunt  was  asleep,  Meskyn  mending  a  bow,  Ros 
had  his  feet  in  the  water  while  he  sang.  Sir 
Belem,  grim  and  speechless,  took  them  all  three, 
bound  their  hands  behind  their  backs,  and  drove 
them  before  him,  like  cattle  at  the  goad's  point, 
to  the  Red  Fell.  That  which  was  terrible  about 
Belem  was  his  silence.  If  it  had  made  Dame 
Helewise  his  wife  glad  of  Pereduc,  so  long  as  he 
was  glad  of  her,  and  even  when  he  was  not,  to 
prefer  death  to  her  husband ;  if  it  had  made  Sir 
Sagramor  take  service  with  the  Count  of  Hainault 
—  judge  to  what  length  it  drove  these  proud, 
chattering  Welsh  youths.  It  made  Gaunt  and 
Ros  and  Meskyn  de  la  Garde  first  rage,  then  foam, 
then  weep  with  raving,  then  swoon,  and  last  sub- 
mit like  mutes  —  all  the  spirit  scared  out  of  them 
by  a  wooden  English  knight.  Sir  Belem  made 
hinds  of  his  prisoners :  Meskyn,  a  mere  lad,  was 
turned  afield  to  be  crow-keeper;  Ros  became 
cowherd,  and  Gaunt,  a  very  noble  young  man  to 
all  appearance,  a  plough-teamster  in  the  marshy 
lands  about  Severn. 


1 88  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  Immediately  news  of  this  became  known  Sir 
Caradoc  levied  war  upon  Sir  Belem,  and  drove 
him  to  sore  straits  to  defend  all  that  he  had.  The 
Welshmen  came  up  in  hordes,  held  all  the  passes 
and  threatened  all  the  towers.  It  was  not  so  much 
that  vassals  failed  the  Englishman  as  that  his 
borders  were  wide.  Sir  Belem,  who  had  but  one 
single  purpose,  was  content  to  wait  its  fulfilment ; 
but  meantime  he  made  his  youngest  brother 
Herlouin  a  knight,  and  thought  it  well  to  do  what 
I  am  sure  he  had  no  taste  for,  I  mean  to  send  a 
messenger  oversea  to  summon  his  second  brother 
Sagramor  with  horse  and  arms  to  help  them. 
There  was  no  love  lost  between  this  pair  ;  Belem 
hated  Sagramor  as  the  night  the  day ;  but  when 
a  gentleman  has  thirty  valleys  to  defend  and  a 
grudge  to  feed  into  the  bargain,  he  has  no  time 
for  quarrelling  with  his  brothers.  And  much  as 
he  hated  Sagramor,  badly  as  he  had  used  him 
and  badly  as  he  meant  to  use  him,  he  knew  that 
he  would  come.  So  the  devil,  as  they  say,  loves 
to  see  the  cross  upon  a  bond. 

"  But  the  English  roads  were  still  waiting  for 
Sir  Sagramor  le  Bel  Enemy  while  the  Welshmen 
poured  over  the  border.  Sir  Belem  drew  back 
from  valley  to  valley,  until  it  came  to  this,  that  he 
was  besieged  in  his  castle  of  Red  Fell,  and  could 
only  hold  that  with  the  demesnes  about  it.  It 
was  no  pleasant  sight  for  the  great  brooding  man 
to  see  his  good  lands  covered  with  Welsh  pavil- 
ions ;  and  yet  he  had  to  endure  a  worse.  Every 
day  Sir  Caradoc  de  la  Garde,  with  three  of  the 
four  sons  left  him  —  one  to  carry  his  banner,  one 
to  ride  on  his  right  hand,  and  one  to  ride  on  his 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  189 

left  hand  —  rode  up  the  valley  and  was  acclaimed 
by  those  he  called  his  liegemen,  haggard  rogues 
all  of  them,  with  hoarse  voices  and  sudden  small 
hands.  Upon  his  tower-top  Sir  Belem  sat  grimly, 
nursing  his  sword  and  his  hate  together,  speaking 
never  a  word.  So  then  old  Sir  Caradoc,  his  white 
hair  blown  about  his  fierce  face,  bareheaded  as  he 
always  was,  would  ride  close  under  the  very  walls 
and  cry  out, '  Come  down,  Belem,  thou  dumb  dog, 
and  I  will  hang  thee  for  my  sons'  sake.'  Belem, 
immutably  patient,  said  never  a  word,  and  would 
not  kill  the  old  man  yet ;  rather,  he  gloomed  the 
more  darkly,  his  eyes  fixed  always  upon  the  brown 
valley  where  a  shrunken  river,  brabbling  among 
rocks,  ran  its  journey  into  the  heart  of  England. 
The  streams  fell  either  way  from  the  ridge  which 
was  the  Red  Fell,  east  into  England,  west  into 
Wales.  From  the  east,  and  up  this  rocky  valley 
Sir  Sagramor  must  ride  with  his  men,  since  no 
other  was  open.  Yet  a  full  month  before  he  could 
be  looked  for  Belem  had  caught  Pereduc  de  la 
Garde  in  an  ambush  and  hanged  him  up  on  a  tall 
tree  midmost  of  the  Welsh  pass.  He  did  not 
know  that  he  was  hanging  the  ravisher  of  his  wife ; 
but  his  brother  Herlouin  and  all  his  vassals  knew 
it  quite  well.  When  next  Sir  Caradoc  came  up 
against  him  he  was  without  a  banner-bearer,  but 
still  with  a  mailed  son  on  either  side  his  horse. 
And  this  time,  though  he  rode  as  before,  bare- 
headed, courting  destruction,  under  the  outer  wall 
of  the  fosse,  he  called  out  no  injurious  invitation 
to  Sir  Belem ;  but  he  lifted  up  a  tight,  wizened 
face,  whereon  sat  desire  grinning  like  a  dog. 
"  You  may  suppose  that  he  judged  his  son 


1 90  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Lewknor  either  too  young  to  bear  the  weight  of 
mail,  or  too  dear  to  run  the  risk  of  Sir  Belem, 
since  he  was  content  to  be  without  a  banner- 
bearer.  That  he  could  dock  himself  of  so  much 
pride  has  an  air  of  fear.  Venturesome  old  mer- 
chant that  he  was,  he  had  come  to  a  point  where 
he  dared  not  have  all  in  one  bottom.  Two  sons 
he  had  left  to  be  esquires  of  his  body;  one  should 
be  at  home  in  case  of  new  sorrow.  He  never 
expected,  though  I  hope  he  deserved,  the  sorrow 
that  befel  him  when,  that  same  night,  he  made  a 
fierce  attack  on  the  castle  of  Red  Fell,  and  an 
attack  of  torches,  smoke,  haste,  scrambling,  and 
hot  crying.  The  Welshman  bridged  the  fosse  and 
heaped  brushwood  about  the  inner  bailey,  mean- 
ing to  set  it  alight.  This  fire  would  have  served 
to  cover  scaling-ladders  and  murder ;  there  would 
have  been  no  sound  throats  in  the  Red  Fell,  had 
not  Belem  been  speedier  than  his  assailants.  He 
himself  it  was  who  had  the  doors  set  open  before 
they  had  kindled  the  wood,  but  not  before  the 
party  of  the  castle  was  primed  to  make  a  rush. 
The  Welsh,  taken  by  surprise,  were  forced  back 
upon  their  bridge :  there  and  thereabouts  was  a 
hot  half-hour,  all  done  by  guess-work  in  the  dark. 
But  Garyn  de  la  Garde  was  drowned  in  the  fosse, 
and  Merlyn  trampled  beyond  recognition  by  his 
own  men ;  the  rest  saved  themselves  as  they 
could.  They  drew  off  without  their  dead,  not 
even  knowing  who  was  dead;  and  for  two  or 
three  weeks  there  was  no  sign  made. 

"  Sir  Caradoc,  as  many  judged,  should  have  been 
broken  by  this  tragic  night  which  had  robbed  him 
of  all  his  tall  sons ;  but  Belem  judged  otherwise, 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  191 

and  rightly.  The  old  Welsh  robber,  as  proud  as 
fire,  had  a  bodyguard  still  to  flaunt  in  Fortune's 
face,  and  for  this  reason,  because  he  would  demand 
of  him  the  uttermost  farthing,  Sir  Belem  stayed 
where  he  was  in  his  castle  until  his  enemy's  pride 
should  prove  his  final  ruin.  Surely  enough  a 
day  dawned,  a  day  of  level  milky  light,  when 
they  of  the  Red  Fell  saw  Sir  Caradoc  come  up 
from  Powys,  riding  as  aforetime  between  two 
mailed  knights,  his  troop  of  reivers  and  robbers 
behind  him ;  and  a  low  chuckle  from  Belem  — 
like  the  gloating  of  a  kite  over  a  meadow  —  made 
young  Herlouin  aware  of  a  new  turn  in  the  game. 
Bright  as  a  beam  of  the  sun  up  the  eastern  valley 
came  riding  Sir  Sagramor  le  Bel  Enemy  in  gilded 
armour,  he  and  his  friends,  homing  from  England's 
heart. 

"  Young  Herlouin  looked  from  east  to  west, 
from  west  to  east ;  and  presently  he  spoke  with  a 
gush  of  pity  in  his  voice.  '  Here,  brother,'  he  said, 
'  is  your  enemy  at  his  last  shift,  who  (to  maintain 
his  estate)  is  forced  to  put  under  armour  the  tender 
bodies  of  children ;  and  these  his  last,  and  one  of 
them  a  girl.  Let  us  show  mercy,  Belem,  at  this 
time.  Unmask  him,  strip  him,  show  him  a  brag- 
gart: but  have  you  not  yet  had  enough  of  his 
flesh  ?  Three  of  his  sons  you  have  dead,  and 
three  in  thrall ;  what  worse  thing  can  you  do  him 
than  leave  him  alone  with  his  memories  ?  And 
as  for  these  pretty  children,  what  harm  have  they 
done,  or  what  can  do  ? ' 

"  The  youth  spoke  urgently,  not  without  tears ; 
but  Belem  never  turned  his  eyes  from  the  east 
where  Sagramor  his  brother  snowed  with  thirty- 


192  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

five  spears  behind  him.  He  had  his  great  horse 
apparelled,  armed  himself  from  head  to  foot,  and 
laid  his  bare  sword  across  his  keees ;  he  did  noth- 
ing more,  and  said  not  a  word.  Again  Herlouin 
urged  him ;  this  time  he  turned  his  back.  Then 
Herlouin  saw  that  Sagramor  was  aware  of  the 
opposing  force ;  he  saw  him  turn  to  his  compan- 
ions, he  saw  them  spur,  he  saw  the  horses  plunge 
at  the  steel  and  quicken.  It  came  into  his  mind 
that  Belem  meant  to  do  his  butchering  by  deputy, 
to  serve  both  his  hatreds  at  once  —  kill  the  chil- 
dren of  his  enemy  and  fasten  upon  his  brother  the 
shame  of  the  fact.  Herlouin,  boy  as  he  was,  grew 
red  in  the  face  and  swore  the  thing  should  not  be. 

"  He  slipped  away  from  the  tower  where  Belem 
stood  with  his  friends  watching  the  game,  got  out 
of  doors  by  a  little  wicket,  scrambled  to  horse-back 
and  spurred  towards  Sagramor,  intent  upon  reach- 
ing him  before  it  was  too  late.  This  he  was  just 
able  to  do,  but  no  more.  The  two  lines  were 
ready  to  engage  in  the  open  ground  before  the 
castle,  drawn  up  in  line  facing  each  other,  some 
two  careers  of  a  horse  apart.  Into  the  middle 
space  came  Herlouin,  stooping  low  to  his  horse's 
neck,  at  a  hand  gallop.  Sagramor  saw  and  knew 
him.  '  Hold,  brother,  hold,  Sagramor,'  cried  the 
boy,  panting ;  '  be  advised  what  you  do  ! ' 

" '  Dompnedex ! '  says  Sagramor  with  a  high 
head.  '  Brother  Herlouin,  I  shall  do  what  be- 
comes me.' 

" '  By  my  soul,  you  will  not,'  says  the  other ; 
and  Sagramor, 

" '  How  then,  if  I  punish  the  enemies  of  our 
house  ? '  His  eyes,  very  fierce,  glittered  between 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  193 

the  bars  of  his  visor.     These  sort  of  interruptions 
were  not  at  all  to  his  taste. 

"  But  Herlouin  was  sure  of  his  case.  '  Let 
man  meet  man,'  he  said,  'and  the  better  man 
prevail.  But,  Sagramor,  make  no  war  upon  a  boy 
and  girl.' 

" '  How  now  ? '  says  Sagramor ;  so  then  Her- 
louin told  him  how  Sir  Caradoc  had  lost  his  six 
grown  sons,  and  was  attended  now  by  a  boy  on 
his  right  or  left  and  a  girl  on  his  left  or  right, 
twin  children  of  a  dead  mother,  whose  joint  ages 
might  scarcely  exceed  his  own.  He  told  him  that 
one  or  other  of  the  old  Knight's  esquires  was  his 
daughter  Audiart,  and  one  his  son  Lewknor ;  that 
which  was  which  there  was  no  telling ;  that  as  for 
the  rest  of  the  Welsh  host,  they  were  rapscallions, 
lick-pots,  lackeys,  varlets,  dog-bolts,  stable-hinds 
and  gallows-birds  of  Powys,  unworthy  of  the  arms 
they  bore  or  of  those  now  offered  against  them, 
servants  and  panders  of  old  Caradoc's  ruining 
pride.  He  ended  — '  Will  you  draw  upon  children 
or  tilt  against  cattle-thieves,  Sagramor?'  And 
Sagramor  in  a  great  heat  swore  '  By  our  Lady,  I 
will  not.' 

" '  Sir  Caradoc  de  la  Garde  began  to  taunt  the 
good  knight  for  delay,  and  might  have  forced  a 
fray  upon  him  but  for  diversion  from  another 
quarter.  Out  of  the  castle  rode  Sir  Belem  in  his 
armour,  and  his  vassals  with  him  —  Brian  Lon- 
gescu,  Maynard  Tregoz,  Sir  Bartholomew  of  the 
Spiny  Brake,  Sir  Matthew  of  the  Reidswire,  Sir 
Cuthbert  of  the  Mynd,  and  other  gentlemen  of 
Salop,  heavily  horsed  and  accoutred  with  long 
shields  and  spears  at  rest,  as  if  to  fight  with 


194  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Saracens  at  Roncesvalles,  or  brave  the  slaughter 
of  Aliscans.  Directly  he  was  aware  of  Belem 
Sir  Caradoc  spurred  out  to  meet  him  more  than 
half-way,  a  bow-shot  at  least  in  advance  of  his 
men ;  and  on  either  side  of  him  those  last  gallant 
slips  of  his  tree  pushed  on  level,  abreast,  as  if  their 
hearts  danced  in  unison.  '  Fight  me  now,  Belem, 
thou  red  felon,'  roared  the  old  Welsh  Knight,  and 
shook  his  spear.  Deep  in  his  throat  spake  Belem 
for  the  first  time,  saying,  '  By  God,  I  will.'  And 
then  as  he  made  himself  ready  he  gave  the  signal 
to  Sagramor  to  charge  the  Welshmen  in  flank 
and  so  pen  them  like  cattle. 

"  But  Sagramor  threw  up  his  spear-arm  in  token 
that  he  must  speak  before  he  did  anything.  Once 
more  the  Welshman  paused  to  hear  him.  Then 
he  said,  '  Brother  Belem,  I  am  advised  that  Sir 
Caradoc  has  brought  out  his  two  children  —  all 
that  he  has  left  —  in  armour,  and  that  one  of  these 
is  a  young  virgin.  They  tell  me  that  the  rest  of 
his  following  are  villeins  pranked  in  the  mail  of 
good  knights.  If  these  reports  be  true  you  know 
better  than  to  call  me  on.  If  they  be  not  true, 
let  Sir  Caradoc  deny.  But  I  believe  they  are  true, 
and  therefore  I  will  do  one  of  two  things :  I  will 
meet  Sir  Caradoc  himself  (as  his  due  is)  in  single 
combat,  on  horse  and  on  foot,  and  give  a  good 
account  of  myself,  as  I  hope;  or  let  him  stand 
aside  with  his  imps,  so  unarmed,  with  a  flail  in 
my  hand  I  will  pound  this  rascaille  as  it  deserves. 
But,  Belem,  you  shall  not  require  me  to  go  a-tilt 
against  hinds,  nor  do  battle  with  a  young  boy. 
There  were  better  customs  in  England  before  I 
left  it' 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  195 

"  Sir  Belem,  who  saw  his  plan  spoiled,  was  furi- 
ous. '  Is  this  your  custom  of  oversea  ?  Is  this 
your  loyalty  ?  I  spit  upon  you,  recreant.'  So  he 
said ;  then  to  his  followers,  '  Pass  avant !  Follow 
Belem ! '  The  whole  long  line  of  his  men  set 
spears  in  rest  and  drove  in  the  sharp  spurs.  Old 
Sir  Caradoc  turned  in  his  saddle  to  give  warning 
to  his  host ;  but  Sagramor,  seeing  that  he  and  his 
two  squires  must  be  swept  up  and  devoured  by 
Belem  before  any  support  could  reach  them,  Sagra- 
mor, I  say,  uttered  a  sharp  cry.  '  Dieu  nous  garde ! 
This  is  massacre,  not  war.  On  my  side,  Her- 
louin,'  he  said,  *  follow,  follow  close ! '  He  can- 
tered out  in  advance  of  his  company,  they  press- 
ing after  in  due  order,  with  intent  to  interpose  his 
force  between  Belem  and  his  prey ;  and  this  would 
have  been  done  if  Sir  Caradoc,  hungry  and  thirsty 
for  death,  had  not  rushed  in  to  meet  it.  But  so 
it  fell  out  that  the  three  companies  met  in  the 
midst  with  a  thudding  shock,  and  that  Belem  was 
on  terms  with  the  father  of  his  thief  before  any 
one  could  comfort  him.  At  the  first  onset  Belem 
sent  the  old  knight  headlong  to  ground,  thrust 
through  the  gorget  with  a  spear.  He  pinned  him 
to  the  earth  and  left  the  spear  sticking  there  ;  then 
drawing  sword  he  would  have  gone  on  to  yet  more 
dreadful  slaking  of  his  dry  heat.  Seeing  which, 
Sagramor  with  a  mace  clove  a  way  for  himself 
through  the  vassals  of  his  house,  once  his  friends, 
intent  to  defend  from  their  fury  those  who  had 
done  them  the  first  wrong.  '  Put  up,  Belem,  put 
up ! '  he  shouted  in  a  high  voice  as  he  wrought ; 
'do  those  innocents  no  harm,  or  by  Heaven  I 
shall  repay  it  on  thee ! '  So  he  said,  and  smote 


196  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

right  and  left,  trying  by  all  means  to  get  at  his 
brother.  Close  behind  him  pressed  Herlouin. 
But  they  saw  the  two  armed  children  side  by  side 
engage  the  man  who  had  overthrown  their  father, 
and  knew  that  it  must  end  as  it  must,  without  any 
instance  of  their  own. 

"  Sir  Belem  played  with  their  wild  sallies  as  a 
great  cat  may  handle  a  mouse,  when  she  is  full  of 
idleness  as  well  as  vice.  Temptingly  he  opened 
guard  once  or  twice,  whereupon  they,  with  the 
mad  spirit  of  their  father  surging  in  them,  came 
on  furiously  and  at  random.  So  presently,  with 
a  light  flicker  of  his  blade,  Belem  cut  at  one  of 
them  and  shore  through  the  plates  of  the  neck- 
piece, so  that  the  helm  was  loosened  and  fell  off 
sideways.  They  saw  him  falter  at  that,  even  with 
his  sword  shivering  in  mid-air  ready  to  strike.  It 
would  seem  that  shame  smote  even  him  when  out 
of  the  ungainly  trunk  of  steel,  to  look  upon  the 
ruin  and  raving,  the  dust,  the  clamour  and  the 
blood,  there  beamed  forth  the  smooth  pale  face, 
the  wide  eyes,  the  rippling  dark  hair  of  a  grave 
young  girl.  Hither  and  thither  drove  the  press 
of  battle,  swirling  like  a  whirlpool  in  the  tide, 
while  Belem  sat  gaping  at  his  deed. 

"  Spurring  at  last  came  Sagramor  to  the  place. 
He  swung  his  mace  about  his  head,  struck  down- 
wards, and  splintered  the  sword  of  Belem  his 
brother.  '  Oh,  shame  to  our  father's  blood  ! '  he 
cried  with  trembling  voice, '  What  hast  thou  done, 
Belem  ? '  He  looked  at  the  girl,  she  steadily  at 
him ;  he  hung  his  head,  he  sat  adroop,  thoughtful 
on  his  horse.  But  Belem,  recovering  himself, 
quick  to  the  advantage,  snatched  at  the  spear 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  19? 

which,  transfixing  old  Caradoc's  throat,  still  swayed 
like  a  pole  in  the  tideway ;  with  a  wrench  he  pulled 
it  out,  then  aimed  a  buffet  sideways  at  Sagramor 

—  a  foul  blow.    Over  against  him  that  other  armed 
child  of  the  Graceless  Guard  got  between  him 
and  the  girl ;  but  Belem  was  now  intent  upon  his 
brother,  pressing  him  with  shield  and  short  sword 
so  as  by  any  means  to  have  his  life.     Herlouin 
took  his  chance  to  get  the  girl  out  of  the  mess, 
pressed  forward  and  confronted  her  and  her  armed 
brother.     Backward  like  the  long  wash  of  a  wave 
came  the  battle,  and  swept  him,  the  boy  and  the 
maid,  into  the  main  stream  of  strife. 

"  As  they  drifted  hurtling  together,  young  Her- 
louin, for  honest  ends,  lifted  sword  and  voice 
above  the  din.  '  My  prize,  my  capture  ! '  he  cried 
as  he  strove  to  disarm  the  Welsh  boy.  But  at  the 
words  Lewknor  de  la  Garde  threw  himself  forward 
upon  him :  Herlouin  felt  his  hands  at  his  shoulders, 
heard  him  grunt  as  he  tussled  and  tried  for  mastery. 
'  Never  your  capture,  English  wolf  ! '  he  said  be- 
tween his  teeth,  whimpering  and  fretting  at  his 
lack  of  strength.  *  Let  loose,  little  fool,'  says 
Herlouin ;  '  I  am  doing  what  I  can  for  you ; '  but 
to  no  purpose.  Either  he  was  past  the  sense  of 
the  ears  or  the  lust  of  murder  was  upon  him ; 
possessed  at  least  by  some  devil  he  slipped  from 
his  horse  and  clung  with  his  full  weight  upon 
Herlouin's  neck,  endangering  both  their  lives. 
Seeing  which  a  friend  and  vassal  of  the  Red  Fell 

—  Maynard  Tregoz  by  name,  a  valiant  knight  of 
Salop  —  let  drive  at  Lewknor  with  his  axe,  and 
hitting  him  fairly  on  the  top  of  the  head,  split  his 
helm  clean  in  the  middle,  so  that  the  two  halves 


198  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

fell  apart.  The  hands  parted  from  Herlouin's 
neck ;  Herlouin  was  free.  A  universal  cry  went 
up  on  all  sides :  here  on  the  ground  before  them 
was  another  girl  in  all  points  like  the  first :  the 
round  smooth  face,  the  pouting  rich  mouth,  curl- 
ing hair,  fringed  eyes ;  and  over  all  rage  and  awe, 
shame  and  high  blood,  clouding,  flushing,  paling, 
leaping,  dying,  like  a  mountain  fire.  Herlouin, 
looking  dreadfully  upon  the  sight,  crossed  himself. 
Was  this  the  girl  and  t'other  the  boy  ?  Had  he, 
all  unknowing,  wrestled  with  a  virgin?  Were 
both  of  them  girls?  If  so,  had  a  girl  so  nearly 
had  him  down  ?  God  knew,  in  a  generous  youth 
this  was  no  time  for  nice  considerations.  Here, 
it  did  seem,  were  two  girls  in  a  man's  affair. 
They  must  be  got  out.  '  Man  or  maid,'  says  Her- 
louin, '  I  fight  you  no  more.  Trust  me,  and  help 
me  get  your  sister  out  of  this.'  He  spoke  as  he 
hoped,  not  as  he  knew;  and  first  his  enemy 
looked  at  him  with  a  hint  of  fight  left  in  two  hot 
grey  eyes.  But  then, '  Get  her  away,'  he  said,  and 
Herlouin  thanked  his  Saviour  for  knowledge.  By 
labour  and  heat,  by  hard  knocks  not  a  few,  by 
shouting  himself  hoarse,  by  prayers,  entreaties, 
and  his  horse's  rump,  he  got  a  way  made  for  them 
out  of  the  battle.  Side  by  side  they  came  out, 
and  side  by  side  rode  off  down  the  valley  into 
Powys ;  and  it  was  pretty  (where  so  much  was  grim) 
to  see  the  care  each  had  for  the  other.  But  for 
the  life  of  him  Herlouin  could  not  tell — when 
their  backs  were  turned  —  which  of  them  it  was 
had  called  the  other  '  Sister.'  Certainly,  a  more 
beautiful  pair,  or  a  pair  which  made  franker 
coparcenry  —  whereby  the  girl  took  boyish  looks 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  199 

and  the  boy  girlish  —  he  had  never  hoped  to 
see. 

"  To  consider  now  the  fortunes  of  battle :  no 
living  Welshman,  except  Lewknor  and  his  twin 
sister,  left  the  ground.  Most  were  slain,  the  rest 
bound  prisoners;  yet  in  the  midst  of  swords 
sheathed  or  sheathing  the  two  brothers  of  the 
Red  Fell  fought  like  tigers,  Belem  to  have 
Sagramor's  life,  Sagramor  to  disarm  Belem. 

"  So  by  the  grace  of  God  he  did.  Belem  lies 
on  the  ground,  Sagramor,  spent  and  breathing 
deep,  leans  on  his  mace  looking-  at  him. 

" '  Belem,'  says  this  good  knight,  '  you  have 
sought  to  take  my  life.' 

" '  By  the  fiend,'  says  Belem,  '  and  I  will  have  it 
yet.' 

"  *  I  think  not,'  Sagramor  replies ;  '  but  let  that 
be.  So  long  as  I  remain  on  life  you  will  do  no 
more  injury  to  the  Graceless  Guard.  For  the 
evil  deed  of  one  man  there  six  men  have  paid  the 
price.  As  I  see  the  matter,  it  is  now  time  for 
you  to  reflect  that  you  are  a  Christian,  upon 
whom  forgiveness  of  sins  is  by  God's  counsel 
enjoined.  Let  a  love-day  be  proclaimed,  estab- 
lish a  peace,  and  I  spare  your  life,  otherwise  —  I 
have  you  disarmed  below  me.  Choose  what  you 
will  do.'  What  choice  was  there  ?  Belem  gave 
Sagramor  his  word,  intending  to  break  it,  and 
Sagramor  gave  Belem  his  life.  He  let  him  go 
free,  him  and  his  men;  but  himself  would  not 
enter  his  father's  house. 

"  This  troubled  Herlouin,  the  youngest  of  the 
three  brothers.  *  What  will  you  do  now,  Sagra- 
mor ? '  he  asks. 


200  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

" '  Brother,'  said  Sagramor,  *  I  shall  go  to  pray, 
hoping  thereby  to  rid  my  soul  of  all  earthly  stain, 
so  that  a  clean,  sweet  chamber  may  be  prepared 
within  me.' 

" '  But  who  shall  be  guest  to  sit  in  this 
chamber  ? '  asks  Herlouin ;  and  Sagramor  told 
him,  '  the  most  lovely  lady  now  in  the  world.' 

" '  And  who  is  your  lovely  lady,  Sagramor  ? ' 

"  He  said,  '  My  lady  Audiart  of  the  Graceless 
Guard  is  the  lady  —  in  whose  face  Awe  sits  still, 
and  Grief,  and  Holy  Fear.' 

" '  Aha,'  cries  Herlouin,  '  then  you  saw  what 
Belem  and  I  saw:  the  young  girl  in  the  midst 
of  battle.' 

" '  Brother,  I  did,'  said  Sagramor ;  and  Herlouin 
said,  '  I  saw  as  it  might  be  two  such  girls.' 

"  '  Sagramor  said, '  So  did  I,  God  help  me.'  Then 
Herlouin  kissed  him,  saying,  '  May  He  be  with 
thee,  Sagramor  my  brother,  and  give  thee  thy 
fond  desire.'  So  the  brothers  parted,  Sagramor 
rode  away  alone  towards  Powys,  yet  not  across 
the  border;  but  stayed  rather  at  the  hermitage 
of  the  Ford,  and  there  spent  his  days  and  nights 
in  prayer  and  fasting  and  scourging  his  bare 
bones  with  the  discipline.  Herlouin,  for  his 
part,  having  no  open  quarrel  with  Belem,  chose 
to  remain  at  the  Red  Fell ;  for  he  thought,  '  cer- 
tainly Belem  will  not  give  over  his  blood-feud  for 
an  oath  let  slip  in  the  article  of  death.  It  may 
be  that  by  staying  I  shall  do  Sagramor  a  service.' 
So  he  endured  as  well  as  he  could  the  stark 
silence,  the  meditation  of  murder,  and  the  worse 
than  meditation,  with  which  Belem  filled  the 
house,  keeping  close  watch  on  whatever  might 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  201 

be  intended  against  the  Graceless  Guard.  The 
first  thing  was  that  Belem  most  villainously  slew 
those  wretched  thralls  that  he  had,  Gaunt  and 
Ros  and  Meskyn  de  la  Garde,  and  stuck  their 
lean  heads  on  spikes  outside  the  gatehouse. 
Herlouin  took  this  shameful  news  down  to  his 
brother. 

"  When  Sagramor  heard  it  he  defaced  his  shield 
and  spoiled  the  crest  on  his  helm ;  which  done, 
he  gave  up  his  lodging  with  the  hermit  of  the 
Ford  and  went  down  into  the  plain  of  Powys,  to 
the  Graceless  Guard.  Standing  up  there,  bare  of 
all  cognisance,  he  cried  out  in  a  loud  voice,  '  Take 
heed  of  the  renunciation  of  a  good  knight,'  over 
and  over  again  until  they  of  the  castle  were  aware 
of  him,  and  came  out  on  to  the  tower  to  hear  what 
he  had  to  say.  Those  two  twin  persons  came 
out ;  so  Sagramor  saw  again  under  a  veil  of  steel 
the  lady  of  his  heart,  though  which  of  the  two 
were  she  he  could  not  tell. 

"  One  of  them  calls  from  the  tower,  '  Who  art 
thou,  renouncing  there ;  and  what  dost  thou  re- 
nounce ? ' 

"  Sagramor,  baring  his  head,  cries,  '  I  am  Sag- 
ramor of  the  Red  Fell,  brother  of  the  false  knight 
Belem ;  whom  now  I  utterly  renounce,  and  with 
him  my  blood,  name  and  arms.' 

"  Then  the  speaker  from  the  tower  asked  him, 
'  Wilt  thou  serve  us,  Sir  Sagramor  ? '  and  he  said, 
'  Yes.'  So  the  other  then,  '  Come  into  the  castle 
and  help  us;  for  we  are  only  two  here  now, 
Audiart  and  Lewknor,  brother  and  sister,  and  all 
the  rest  of  our  kindred  and  household  slain  by 
Sir  Belem.  Come  in,  therefore,  and  help  us.'  But 


202  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Sagramor  lifted  up  his  right  hand,  saying,  '  By  my 
soul,  I  will  not  come  into  your  castle  until  I  am 
worthy  of  its  glorious  tenant,  my  lady  Audiart, 
whom  I  love  and  serve  in  the  dark.'  To  this 
no  answer  was  returned  from  the  tower,  though 
brother  and  sister  looked  quickly  at  one  another; 
so  Sagramor  stayed  below  in  the  weather  with 
what  comfort  he  could  suck  from  the  near  neigh- 
bourhood, refusing  all  manner  of  meat  or  suste- 
nance from  within  doors.  This  went  on  for 
many  weeks. 

"  After  a  time  it  came  to  young  Sir  Herlouin's 
understanding  that  Belem  was  compassing  a  great 
new  villainy  against  the  Graceless  Guard,  namely, 
to  attack  it  in  strong  force,  kill  Lewknor,  and 
serve  Dame  Audiart  as  her  brother  Sir  Pereduc 
had  served  his  wife  —  that  is,  to  wed  her  by  force. 
Herlouin  rode  down  into  Powys  by  stealth  and 
told  the  news  to  Sagramor,  whom  he  found  much 
aged  and  very  cold,  standing  by  the  outer  gate. 
'  Let  Belem  come,'  says  Sagramor.  '  I  am  ready 
for  him.'  To  Herlouin  the  good  knight  seemed 
by  no  means  ready;  but  he  let  the  two  within 
the  Guard  know  the  story,  and  they  made  ready, 
after  a  fashion  of  their  own. 

"  They  sent  out  a  messenger  to  the  Red  Fell,  a 
certain  Welshman  called  Owain,  a  priest.  Belem 
was  at  meat,  Herlouin  with  him.  '  Bring  in  the 
priest,'  he  says;  so  they  brought  him  in,  a  thin- 
faced  man,  pinched  with  cold,  for  now  was  the 
winter  weather  come  into  the  March. 

" '  My  lord,'  said  this  priest, '  this  is  my  message 
to  you  from  my  master  Sir  Lewknor  of  the  Grace- 
less Guard.  You  shall  ride  alone  to  the  Guard, 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  203 

and  unarmed,  so  you  shall  take  away  the  bride. 
But  if  you  come  armed  or  in  force,  your  brother 
Sir  Sagramor  shall  have  her.' 

" '  Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ? '  says  Belem. 
1  What  proof  have  I  that  you  meditate  no 
treachery  against  me  ? ' 

" '  Sir,'  replied  the  priest,  '  my  master  has  pro- 
vided against  your  reasonable  doubts.  He  him- 
self will  be  hostage  for  your  safety.  This  is  what 
you  shall  do.  Let  your  brother  Sir  Herlouin 
come  first  in  arms  to  the  Guard.  My  master  will 
give  himself  up  into  his  hands,  and  will  so  remain 
until  you  have  obtained  her  whom  you  seek.  Will 
this  content  you  ? ' 

" '  By  no  means,'  says  Belem ;  '  for  they  may 
have  their  Graceless  Guard  filled  with  men.' 
The  priest  with  a  fierce  cry  knocked  his  breast. 

" '  Ah,  would  to  God  that  they  had,  Belem  ! '  he 
said.  '  Then  I  had  never  been  here  on  such  an 
errand.  But  now  in  that  great  castle  there  are 
only  two,  Lewknor  and  his  sister  Audiart:  the 
others  all  slain,  and  by  you.' 

"  Belem  says,  *  Good,  I  agree  to  your  proffer. 
Sit  down  and  eat.'  But  the  priest  would  not. 

"  So  it  all  was  done.  Lewknor  de  la  Garde  met 
Herlouin  in  the  midst  of  the  snowy  pass  about 
the  time  of  the  going  down  of  the  sun.  He  was 
unarmed  and  bareheaded ;  and  Herlouin  saw  that 
his  hair,  black  as  a  raven's  wing,  fell  rippling  to 
his  saddle.  Also  he  had  a  cold,  beautiful  face, 
a  mouth  shaped  like  a  girl's,  and  as  soft.  To- 
gether the  youths  went  down  into  Powys,  and 
Audiart  let  them  into  the  Graceless  Guard. 

"  Outside  the  gate,  upon  the  trampled  snow, 


204  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Herlouin  saw  an  armed  knight  on  watch  who,  from 
being  motionless  as  a  figure  of  stone,  when  Dame 
Audiart  came  and  stood  in  the  door,  went  down 
upon  one  knee ;  but  said  nothing,  neither  looked 
at  her.  Herlouin,  for  his  part,  did  look  from  the 
sister  to  the  brother,  and  back  again,  marvelling 
that  such  likeness  and  diversity  could  at  once 
consist.  She  was  of  the  same  height  to  a  hair, 
of  the  same  goodly  proportions,  and  (with  the 
difference  proper  to  a  maid)  of  the  same  shape. 
Not  that  she  was  richly  endowed  with  the  grace 
and  treasure  of  women  ;  otherwise,  being  yet  very 
young,  she  was  slight,  boyishly  made,  rather  than 
not.  The  dark  lashes  of  her  eyes  were  no  longer 
than  his,  nor  her  cheeks,  nor  her  chin,  nor  her 
mouth  more  delicately  soft.  Herlouin  looked  at 
her  hands ;  they  were  small.  So  were  Lewknor's. 
He  saw  her  foot,  and  judged  Lewknor's,  if  any- 
thing, the  smaller.  Her  hair  reached  her  middle, 
and  his  went  just  so  far.  But  at  this  time  she 
was  clothed  from  neck  to  heel  in  white  silk,  after 
the  manner  of  brides,  and  on  her  head  she  had 
a  little  fillet  of  silver  leaves,  like  the  leaves  of  a 
box-tree.  Such  a  lively  sympathy  beat  between 
the  pair,  that  when  Sir  Sagramor  dropped  upon 
his  knee  and  the  girl  grew  red,  so  also  did  her 
brother  Lewknor  —  very  beautiful  to  see. 

"Then  she  spoke,  asking,  'Will  you  serve  me, 
Sir  Sagramor,  good  knight?'  and  Sagramor  said, 
1 1  will  serve  you  utterly.' 

" '  Then,'  says  she,  '  take  my  brother  Lewknor 
here  for  esquire  of  your  body,  and  keep  him  from 
the  hostility  of  his  enemy,  Sir  Belem.  Will  you 
do  this  ? ' 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  205 

" '  Lady,'  says  Sagramor,  '  I  shall  do  it.  But 
what  will  you  yourself  do  ? ' 

" She  told  him.  'I  go  to  expiate  the  blood- 
feud  between  my  house  and  yours.  I  shall  go 
home  with  Sir  Belem.'  Sagramor  cried  out  in 
his  pain,  '  Oh,  horrible,  you  dare  not  do  it,  nor 
ask  us  to  allow  it.'  She,  smiling  bitterly,  '  Do 
you  not  know  that  I  am  of  the  Graceless  Guard. 
Is  there  anything,  upon  our  own  showing,  that 
we  dare  not  do  ? ' 

"  Sagramor  sternly  said, '  There  is  one  thing  that 
no  maiden  dare  to  do ; '  and  she  bowing  her  head, 
responded,  '  That  thing  dare  not  I.  Yet  they 
who  love  me  trust  me.'  So  it  was  Sagramor's 
turn  to  bow  down  his  head.  Whereupon  she 
came  and  put  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  saying, 
'  Do  you  trust  me,  Sagramor,  who  say  that  I  have 
your  love  ? ' 

"  He  replied,  '  I  do  trust.' 

" '  Stay  here  then,'  she  bade  him,  '  until  you  see 
me  depart  between  Sir  Belem  and  Sir  Herlouin. 
Wait  for  my  brother  Lewknor,  and  treat  him  well 
for  my  sake.'  When  Sagramor  looked  up  at  her 
it  was  to  be  seen  by  the  light  of  the  new-risen 
moon  that  his  eyes  were  wet.  '  Lady  of  my  love 
and  duty,'  said  he,  '  I  shall  obey  you  in  all  things 
from  point  to  point.  But  if  I  may  never  see  you 
again  whom  I  shall  hold  in  my  heart  until  my 
life's  end,  I  shall  beseech  of  you  one  favour.' 

"  '  Name  it,'  says  she. 

"'It  is,'  he  told  her,  'that  you  kiss  me  once.' 
Again  she  grew  very  red  and  hesitated  for  a  long 
time ;  again  Lewknor  blushed.  But  afterwards 
she  consented,  and  Sagramor  got  up  and  kissed 


206  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

her  on  the  mouth.  Then  she  with  Lewknor  and 
Herlouin  went  into  the  Guard  to  wait  for  Belem. 

"  Two  hours  after  moon  rise,  as  they  sat  wait- 
ing, they  heard  his  horn  at  the  gate.  The  three 
of  them  looked  suddenly  at  each  other,  rather  at 
the  pale  discs  which  they  knew  to  be  their  faces, 
for  nothing  else  could  they  see.  Then  Audiart 
whispered  to  her  brother,  '  Lewknor,  go  and  let 
him  in.'  So  he  went  away  and  opened  wide  the 
doors  of  the  hall,  next  the  gate  of  the  inner  bai- 
ley, and  next  let  down  the  bridge,  and  lastly  set 
open  the  gate  of  the  outer  bailey.  Then  Belem 
rode  into  the  hall,  and  drew  rein ;  and  they  saw 
horse  and  man  stand  like  statues  looming  in  the 
dusk,  with  Lewknor  beside  them  barely  reaching 
to  the  rider's  knee.  For  once  he  had  kept  his 
word,  being  without  spear  or  sword. 

"  I  have  told  you  he  was  a  silent  man.  Any 
other  would  have  said,  '  Madam,  I  have  come,'  or 
'  Madam,  here  am  I ; '  but  Belem  said  nothing  at 
all.  But  the  fever  which  griped  Audiart  moved 
her  to  ask  what  she  knew  perfectly  well. 

"'Who  art  thou,  horseman?'  saith  she:  and 
Belem,  '  You  know  who  I  am.  Come.' 

"  She  says,  with  a  sharp-drawn  breath,  *  In  a 
good  hour  I  come ; '  and  got  up  from  her  place 
and  came  forward. 

"  Her  brother  Lewknor,  whose  fear  (to  judge 
from  his  bungling)  seemed  wilder  than  her  own, 
put  a  long  black  cloak  over  her,  shaking  as  he  did 
it.  Herlouin  went  to  help  htm.  '  Courage,  friend,' 
said  this  young  man  under  his  breath ;  '  I  ride 
along  with  them,  to  do  what  I  can.'  When  the 
girl  was  made  ready,  Lewknor  led  her  forward; 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  207 

Belem,  stooping,  lifted  her  under  the  arms,  and 
set  her  before  him  on  the  saddle.  So  without  a 
word  he  turned  and  rode  fast  out  of  doors ;  and 
Herlouin  with  all  the  speed  he  had  mounted  and 
followed  after,  leaving  his  brother  Sagramor  with 
young  Lewknor  alone  in  the  Graceless  Guard. 

"  Now  follow  those  who  first  departed.  The 
three  of  them  rode  under  the  moon  from  Powys 
into  England  over  hard  ground  upon  which  lay 
a  powder  of  clean  snow.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
until  they  reached  the  Red  Fell,  dark  and  enor- 
mous, before  which  stood  one  with  a  torch  to  show 
the  way.  Dismounting  first  and  in  haste,  Her- 
louin helped  down  Audiart,  Belem  consenting. 
He,  when  he  had  got  off  deliberately  (being  stiff 
in  his  joints),  faced  his  young  brother,  saying 
shortly,  '  Now,  Herlouin,  go  your  ways.  Here  is 
no  lodging  for  you.'  Herlouin  —  a  pretty  good 
judge  by  this  time  —  thought  to  hear  murder  in 
his  voice.  '  By  my  Lord  God,  Belem,'  he  replied, 
*  I  leave  you  not  this  night.'  Said  Belem,  '  A 
dead  man  you  remain,  but  not  otherwise  on  my 
wedding  night.'  Herlouin  laughed.  '  Oh,  Belem,' 
he  said,  'do  your  murdering  on  me  if  you  can; 
but  until  that  is  done  or  not  done  you  do  not 
touch  this  lady.'  Belem  sent  the  groom  for  his 
sword,  and  Herlouin  said,  '  Fetch  mine  also, 
Simon ; '  but  Belem,  '  Fetch  my  sword  only.'  It 
was  plain  that  he  meant  to  kill  his  brother. 

"  Then  spoke  that  still  and  hooded  lady  Audiart. 
' 1  see  in  you,  Sir  Herlouin,  the  mettle  of  a  knight. 
Now  I  ask  you,  enter  not  the  Red  Fell,  but  leave 
me  alone  with  Sir  Belem.  To-morrow  at  the 
crowing  of  the  second  cock,  come  to  this  gate, 


208  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

and  I  will  let  you  in.'  Belem  gave  a  gross  laugh, 
took  the  girl  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  This 
made  Herlouin  furious.  '  Two  of  my  brothers 
have  saluted  you,  sister,'  he  said ;  '  now  you  shall 
greet  me  in  like  wise.'  So  said,  he  also  kissed 
her  in  full  sight  of  Belem ;  and  as  their  mouths 
met  she  whispered  to  him,  quick  and  low, 
'  Trust  me,  O  Herlouin.'  Without  any  know- 
ledge to  bottom  his  faith  so  he  did,  and  turned 
and  went  to  his  horse.  He  saw  her  go  in  with 
Belem;  he  saw  the  torch  follow:  the  moon  took 
up  again  her  cold  spell  over  the  world.  They  lit 
no  candles  in  the  Red  Fell;  he  heard  nothing, 
saw  nothing,  no  cry,  no  moving  light.  With  what 
spirit  he  had  in  him  he  set  himself  to  watch  out 
the  remaining  dark  hours,  scarce  daring  to  think 
of  what  might  be  doing  within  the  house  lest 
he  should  remember  what  had  been  done  there 
before. 

"  The  first  cock  crew  far  down  in  the  valley  or 
ever  the  day-dawn  shivered  in  the  east.  His  cry 
found  Herlouin  before  the  gates,  peering  for  sign 
of  life  or  some  assurance  in  the  great  blind  house 
of  something  beside  death.  Then  as  the  light 
came  timorously,  stealing  over  the  snowy  waste, 
he  heard  the  sound  of  men  riding,  who  seemed  to 
be  coming  from  the  west.  His  heart  stood  still, 
for  he  thought,  '  If  that  should  be  Sagramor  my 
brother,  come  to  call  me  liar  and  coward.'  And 
he  knew  then  that  it  could  be  no  other,  and  dared 
not  go  to  meet  him. 

"  The  second  cock  crew,  and  behold,  a  long 
splinter  of  light  stream  like  a  bar  across  the  east. 
'  Alas,  for  faith  given  fondly ! '  said  Herlouin  to 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  209 

himself :  *  now  Sagramor  will  kill  me,  and  will  do 
well.'  Even  as  he  spoke  the  gates  of  the  Red  Fell 
opened ;  there  walked  out  a  youth  clad  in  green, 
bare-headed,  pale  and  grave-eyed,  whose  hair  fell 
rippling  to  his  middle ;  who  greeted  him,  saying, 
'  Benedicite,  Sir  Herlouin.'  At  this  sight,  to  see 
Lewknor  come  out  when  Audiart  had  gone  in, 
Herlouin  reeled  in  his  saddle,  having  no  words  in 
his  throat,  nor  wit  in  his  head  to  have  conceived 
them.  At  that  time  came  riding  up  Sir  Sagramor, 
and  with  him,  marvellous  to  be  seen,  that  very  same 
youth  whom  they  took  to  be  Lewknor  —  bare- 
headed, pale  and  grave-eyed,  clad  in  green,  with 
dark  hair  falling  to  his  saddle-bow.  Herlouin, 
gaping  from  one  to  another,  turned  and  spurred 
towards  Sagramor.  '  Brother,  brother,  we  are 
bewitched!  I  came  in  with  Audiart  and  now 
have  Lewknor ! ' 

"  *  No,  no,  Herlouin,'  says  Sagramor,  '  I  have 
Lewknor  here.' 

"  Says  Herlouin,  '  Come  and  help  me  to  see 
then.'  But  Sagramor  spurred  on  ahead  of  him, 
having  but  one  thought. 

"  Springing  from  his  saddle,  he  confronted  the 
youth  in  the  gate.  '  O  thou,  whoever  thou  art,'  he 
said  awfully, '  tell  me  the  fate  of  my  lady  Audiart.' 

"  The  youth  said, '  Come  and  see.'  So  Herlouin 
and  Sagramor  followed  those  other  two  into  the 
castle ;  and  over  the  inner  gate  was  a  spiked  pole, 
and  on  the  top  of  the  pole  the  head  of  Belem, 
grinning  in  death.  But  the  heads  of  all  the  sons 
of  Graceless  Guard  were  gone  from  the  spikes 
where  they  had  been  stuck,  and  so  were  the  spikes 
themselves. 


210  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  Sagramor  said  nothing,  because  he  was  think- 
ing, and  Herlouin  nothing,  because  he  was  unable 
to  think;  but  presently  Sagramor  smote  the  face 
of  Belem  with  his  gauntlet,  saying,  '  Thou  felon 
thief,  Belem.  For  this  only  I  grieve  that  it  was 
not  I  who  set  thee  there.' 

"  Turning  then,  he  said  to  the  three  others, 
1  Follow  me.' 

"  When  he  had  led  them  into  the  hall,  to  the 
top  of  it,  and  made  them  sit  down,  he  went  away, 
and  shortly  came  back  with  a  jug  of  wine,  some 
bread  and  apples.  They  sopped  their  bread  in 
the  wine,  and  broke  their  fast.  Then  Sagramor 
took  three  apples.  '  Catch,  Herlouin,'  he  said,  and 
threw  him  one  of  them.  So  he  said  to  the  youth 
who  sat  next  to  Herlouin,  and  so  did.  The  apple 
went  low  down ;  but  Lewknor  (if  Lewknor  this 
might  be)  clapped-to  his  knees  and  caught  it  upon 
them.  Once  more  Sagramor  took  an  apple,  and 
saying  '  Catch,  Lewknor,'  threw  it  to  the  second 
youth.  This  other  Lewknor,  to  receive  it,  opened 
wide  his  knees,  so  that  the  apple  fell  through  them 
to  the  ground ;  then  instantly  Sagramor  with  a 
glad  cry  sprang  up  from  his  place  and  caught  the 
bungler  kissing  in  his  arms.  '  Thou  art  Audiart 
and  my  dear  love,'  he  cried  exulting,  '  with  whom 
I  have  journeyed  all  this  night ! '  It  was  very  easy 
to  see  the  truth  now  by  her  manner  of  answering. 
Then  Sagramor  turned  to  the  real  Lewknor,  and 
kissed  him  fondly.  '  Oh,  thou  brave  knight,'  quoth 
he,  '  here  was  honest  trickery  indeed.  Now  tell 
us  how  thou  faredst  this  night.'  So  Lewknor  told 
them  what  had  passed  between  him  and  Belem ; 
how  when  they  were  within  the  house  Belem  had 


THE   SHIPMAN'S  TALE  211 

sent  the  bride  to  bed,  and  the  bride,  obedient,  had 
lain  long,  waiting  in  the  dark.  Presently  Belem 
comes  in,  ready  for  bed,  with  a  lighted  lamp  held 
on  high,  that  he  might  see  and  not  be  seen.  What 
he  saw  was  this,  a  youth  in  green  sitting  on  the 
bed  with  his  chin  on  his  knees,  and  his  dark  hair 
all  about  him  like  a  mantle. 

" '  Who  art  thou  ? '  says  Belem ;  and  the  youth, 
'  I  am  Lewknor  of  Graceless  Guard,  last  of  my 
father's  sons.' 

"  *  Why  art  thou  here,  last  of  my  enemies  ? ' 
says  Belem ;  and  Lewknor  again,  '  For  my  sister's 
sake.' 

" '  You  do  her  no  service,  fool,'  said  Belem ; 
'death  is  here.'  Lewknor  replied  between  his 
teeth,  '  It  is  here.  Take  it,  you  big  dog ' ;  and 
leaped  upon  him  and  bit  him  in  the  neck.  Belem 
threw  up  his  head  as  he  grappled,  and  by  that 
means  Lewknor  got  his  own  head  well  under  the 
strong  man's  chin.  Belem  struck  downwards  at 
him  with  the  lamp,  which  was  put  out ;  but  Lewk- 
nor drew  his  knife  and  drove  it  into  Belem's  ribs. 
So  the  tussle  was  done ;  '  and  the  end,'  says  Lewk- 
nor, '  you  know.'  Sagramor  looked  up  with  tears. 
He  took  the  two  hands  of  Audiart  in  his  and 
kissed  them.  '  O  brave  sweet  Audiart,'  he  said, 
1  now  let  our  joint  life  make  amends  for  deaths 
so  many  and  so  bitter.' 

" '  Amen,  Sagramor,'  says  she,  '  God  helping 
us.' 

"  What  more  is  there  to  say  ?  There  is  nothing, 
save  this,  that  those  two  loved  greatly;  and  that 
Lewknor  de  la  Garde,  following  the  English 
fashion,  cut  his  hair  short. 


212  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"And  I  would  to  God,"  added  the  Shipman, 
facing  round  upon  the  unfortunate  Percival,  "  I 
would  to  God,  Jenny  Perceforest,  that  a  shorn  poll 
were  all  the  fault  which  thy  parents  might  find  in 
thee !  "  Percival  was  only  just  in  time  to  take  his 
right  foot  out  of  Mawdleyn's  stirrup  and  by  a  gam- 
bado forced  upon  his  horse  to  drown  this  deep  say- 
ing deeper  in  sound.  Although  it  disturbed  him, 
it  brought  a  certain  relief.  He  edged  up  to  Master 
Smith,  saying,  "  My  good  companion,  I  see  now 
what  perturbs  you.  You  take  me  for  my  sister 
Jane.  Heaven  help  you,  man,  she  is  mother  of 
five  by  now.  You  will  oblige  me,  however,  by 
keeping  my  secret  for  another  day.  By  time  we 
reach  the  Shrine  of  Saint  Thomas  you  shall  do 
what  you  will  with  it." 

The  Shipman  looked  earnestly  at  him.  "  If  so 
be,  Jenny,"  he  said,  "  that  thou  art  mother  of  five 
lawful  imps,  the  greater  the  shame  of  thy  polled 
head.  Where  do  I  stand  to  thee-ward?  What 
of  old  sakes,  old  times,  old  vows,  'twixt  thy  mouth 
and  my  mouth  ?  And  if  I  am  hurt  to  see  thee 
dance  attendance  upon  an  italianate  cut-throat, 
an  ambusher,  a  blood-pudding  man,  what  shall 
thy  husband  do,  and  babes  crying  at  home  ?  Fie, 
Jenny,  fie !  But,  for  the  thought  of  old  days  dead 
I  will  keep  thy  prayer.  When  it  is  so  that  thou 
comest  to  me  petitioning,  thou  shalt  not  find  me 
backward." 

"  Benedicite ! "  cries  poor  Percival.  "  What  more 
can  I  say  ? " 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE 

"  FOR  our  last  tale,"  quoth  the  Prioress,  "  my 
niece  Mawdleyn  shall  choose  the  teller." 

"  Oh,  Piers,"  says  she,  "  I  choose  you." 

"  Madame,"  said  Percival  demurely,  "is  it  your 
pleasure  that  I  obey  Mistress  Touchett  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  pleasure,  Piers,  that  you  please  your- 
self," the  Prioress  answered  with  a  little  soft  sigh. 
Percival  began  very  soberly. 

"  If  your  ladyships  please,  and  your  good  master- 
ships, Tacitus  saith  of  a  great  governor,  that  he 
was  '  Omnium  consensu  capax  imperil  nisi  impe- 
rasset ' ;  a  saw  which  holds  good  of  a  certain  Count 
Galeotto  Galeotti,  gentleman  of  Mantua  in  days 
gone  by.  On  the  other  hand,  of  Eugenio,  coeval 
with  him,  if  you  are  disposed  to  cry  out  — 
'  Infelix,  utcunque  ferent  ea  facta  minores .' ' 

as  was  said  of  Lucius  Brutus  and  his  sons,  the 
reply  might  be  open  to  me  which  Livy  hath  from 
Cato  the  First,  saying,  '/;z  hoc  viro  tanta  vis  ingenii 
inerat,  ut  quocunque  loco  natus  esset,  sibi  ipse  for- 
tunam  fac turns  videretur!  But  I  am  not  to  take 

sides:  otherwise  Eugenio " 

Dan  Costard  here  looked  sternly  at  the  speaker, 
and  put  him  out.  "  All  this  latinity  is  mighty  fine, 
young  man,"  he  said ;  "  but  pray  do  you  remember 
our  conversation  of  overnight,  when  I  confessed 
you?" 

215 


216  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  Very  well  indeed,  father,"  Percival  replied, 
with  a  spirit  which  showed  most  becomingly  in  his 
cheeks.  "  Be  patient  with  me  and  you  shall  hear 
the  tale  of 

EUGENIO   AND    GALEOTTO. 

"  My  ladies,"  he  continued,  "  it  may  please  you 
to  understand  that  in  the  days  of  the  fame  of 
Mantua,  when  Guido  Gonzaga  was  Duke,  and 
Petrarch  the  glorious  poet  his  friend  and  coun- 
cillor, there  was  living  in  that  spacious  city  of 
silver  and  red  a  young  gentleman  named  Galeotto 
Galeotti,  expert  in  arms,  snug  in  means,  in  person 
sleek,  in  manner  amiable,  a  very  good  friend  to 
himself;  but  most  of  all  the  servant  of  ladies. 
On  that  last  quality  he  grounded  his  hope  of 
making  a  stir  in  the  world :  to  see  him  an  orna- 
ment of  the  Court  was  to  have  little  doubt  of  his 
success;  to  remember  him  at  home,  pattern  son 
of  a  pattern  mother,  was  to  have  none  at  all. 
Singing  to  the  Duchess,  hawking,  riding  afield 
with  the  Duke,  he  was  gayest  of  the  gay  — light- 
hearted,  impertinent,  seated  dextrously  in  the 
mean,  not  quicker  than  most  to  take  offence  nor 
slower  than  any  to  give  it ;  in  a  word,  a  perfect 
little  point-device  knight-in-velvet.  At  home,  he 
read  the  philosophers  to  his  mother,  he  made  little 
nets  of  string  (very  useful  in  the  fruit  season  to 
keep  away  the  blackbirds),  was  a  patient  and 
not  unsuccessful  angler,  kept  the  accounts  of  the 
household  expenses  and  balanced  them  to  a 
quattrino  every  week,  and  held  discussions  with 
the  curate  after  dinner  upon  subjects  suggested 
by  the  Countess  before  she  left  the  table.  If  a 


PERCIVAL   PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  217 

courtier  should  be  all  things  to  all  men,  he  was 
exquisitely  a  courtier:  if  cheerful  sufferance  is  his 
badge,  that  was  the  badge  of  Galeotto  Galeotti, 
Count  of  the  Empire. 

"  It  must  further  be  said  that  if  bald  ferocity 
tempered  by  wit  is  the  sign  of  your  tyrant,  Donna 
Giacinta,  the  widowed  countess,  was  triple- 
crowned.  In  those  piping  times  when  Mantua, 
cradled  snug  in  her  reedy  lagoons,  was  the  city 
of  Petrarch  and  Duke  Guido,  minstrelsy  and  art 
expanded  and  lolled  at  ease  under  his  mild  rule ; 
but  the  Contessa  Galeotti  saw  to  it  that  in  her 
own  domain  art  and  minstrelsy  wore  braces.  She 
held  the  palace  of  her  husband's  ancestors  —  a 
proper  palace  of  stone,  escutcheoned,  adorned 
with  statues  and  classical  inscriptions  —  close  to 
the  Ponte  Mulina,  looking  out  over  the  flecked 
stretches  of  the  middle  lake,  the  air  of  whose  cool 
chambers  throbbed  always  to  the  thunder  of  the 
weirs,  and  very  often  to  that  of  her  exhortation. 

NEC     DEVS    INTERSIT    NISI    DIGNVS    VINDICE    NODVS, 

was  the  legend  which  ran  the  whole  length  of  the 
pediment :  no  god  ever  intervened  while  she  was 
at  home ;  but  the  motto  (apart  from  that  particular 
application)  pointed  very  well  the  character  of  a 
family  always  remarkable  for  its  submission  to 
fact  and  recognition  of  the  importance  of  Provi- 
dence. For  in  days  by-past,  wherever  the  service 
of  high  Heaven  had  lain,  there  had  stood  a 
Galeotti  to  claim  his  wages.  And  none  claimed 
more  stoutly  or  expected  more  deliberately  than 
the  Contessa  Giacinta,  whose  skin  was  tight  on 
her  sharp  bones,  but  her  hold  on  the  reins  of 
family  tighter  still.  Over  that  recording  house 


2i8  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

by  the  bridge,  over  the  orange-garden  sloping 
to  the  lagoon,  over  the  greater  garden  (where 
cypresses  and  Roman  deities  stood  ranked,  as  for 
a  game,  on  the  grass) ;  over  house  and  land,  man- 
servant and  maid-servant,  ox  and  ass,  Donna 
Giacinta  stood  with  a  staff  in  her  hand  and  twin- 
kling black  eyes  in  her  head — a  stern,  wise,  laconic 
old  lady.  Nee  deus  intersit,  indeed!  Donna 
Giacinta  was  quite  of  that  opinion,  and  taught  it 
to  the  whole  of  her  house.  The  lacqueys  grew 
acolytes,  the  maids  vestals  under  the  shadow  of 
her  square  jaw.  The  majordomo  had  a  sinecure 
tempered  by  severe  trembling  fits.  Most  of  all, 
the  young  lord  wore  a  face  of  beatific  suffering 
—  meekness  struggling  with  enthusiasm  —  and 
changed  his  boots  for  slippers  whenever  he  heard 
the  staff  of  his  lady  mother  chastening  the  flags. 
An  unhesitating  tongue,  a  piercing  eye,  a  brain 
above  the  average,  a  firm  reliance  upon  the  logic 
of  events,  and  such  a  family  motto,  are  quite 
enough  tools  to  direct  a  leopard's  claws  withal  or 
bend  demurely  the  whiskers  of  a  cat.  So,  within 
doors,  the  Contessa  Galeotti  bent  the  whiskers  of 
the  Count  her  son. 

"  Leopard  enough  — '  alia  gaietta  pelle '  —  the 
young  man  was  when  daily  he  left  his  mother  for 
the  service  of  his  Duke  ;  and  as  for  his  whiskers, 
if  he  had  had  any,  I  assure  you  that  at  court,  with 
the  Duchess's  ladies  or  Gonzaga's  gentlemen,  they 
would  have  taken  a  very  upward  twist.  Let  it  be 
so.  '  Bloodshed,  rapine,  sudden  deaths,  breaking 
of  laws,  of  homes,  of  heads,'  said  the  Countess ; 
'  Such  things  are  the  routine  of  courts.  Break  all 
the  heads  in  Mantua  and  all  the  commandments 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  219 

in  the  world,  my  good  son;  but  break  none  of 
mine.  I  am  not  responsible  for  the  general  con- 
duct of  the  Universe  :  you  shall  reckon  with  the 
Church  for  your  breakages  there.  Within  these 
four  walls,  however,  my  concern  is  plain :  here  you 
account  with  your  old  widowed  mother.'  And 
'  Benissimo,  mamma  mia,'  said  Galeotto  Galeotti, 
Count  of  the  Empire.  Fortified  by  which  daily 
advertisements,  daily  he  went  singing  from  the 
Palazzo  Galeotti  to  the  Corte  del  Castello. 

"  His  way  led  him,  after  skirting  for  a  few  paces 
the  water-fretted  wall  of  the  lake,  into  a  narrow 
street  which  they  of  Mantua  call,  apparently  for 
no  other  reason,  the  Via  Larga.  It  might  with 
equal  force  have  been  called  the  Via  Longa,  since 
it  is  no  more  a  long  than  a  broad  street :  its  name 
is  really  its  only  interest.  Tall  white  houses,  un- 
windowed  to  the  first  storey,  rise  on  either  side 
of  it ;  these  storeys  project  upon  pillars,  and  while 
they  keep  rain  and  sun  away,  form  tunnels  for  the 
wind  and  diminish  yet  further  the  slip  of  blue 
light  you  could  hope  for  overhead.  But  they 
afford  pleasant  window-space  for  the  inhabitants. 
The  women  sit  at  work  in  them  all  day,  orientally 
recluse,  able  to  see  all  and  be  seen  little  —  a  state 
of  the  case  which  was  found  conform  at  once 
to  their  and  their  husbands'  needs.  In  that  day 
there  were  houses  of  well-to-do  merchants  in  the 
Via  Larga. 

"  It  was  down  this  little  street  of  quiet  and  dis- 
cretion, then,  on  a  certain  spring  morning  that 
the  gallant  Galeotto  Galeotti  went  singing,  with 
May  in  his  blood,  love  in  his  mood ;  with  one 
green  leg  and  one  white  leg,  a  tooled  leather 


220  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

doublet,  scarlet  cloak  and  plumed  scarlet  cap ;  his 
hair  frizzed  like  a  bryony-brake,  a  tap-a-tap  of 
sword  on  paving-stones  very  inspiriting  to  hear, 
and  a  smile  on  his  cheerful  face.  If  he  was  not  a 
handsome  he  was  a  wholesome  youth  to  look  at. 
His  teeth  were  good  when  he  laughed,  his  eyes 
grey  shot  with  light,  his  hair  brown,  his  eyebrows, 
his  ears,  all  that  they  should  be.  The  scar  on 
his  right  cheek  was  an  honourable  addition ;  be- 
sides, he  could  woo  with  the  left.  Wooing  just 
now,  with  May  begun  and  his  mother  at  home, 
was  in  the  air :  he  had  a  pretty,  hunting  eye  for 
any  chances  of  the  season.  So  as  he  went  he 
searched  the  upper  windows,  like  a  falconer  who 
casts  his  bird  at  random ;  and  in  an  upper  window 
of  the  Via  Larga  he  had  the  enchanting  vision  of 
the  back  of  a  girl's  head. 

"  In  May,  in  Mantua,  you  can  set  the  heart  a 
tune  with  less  than  that.  A  girl's  face,  even, 
would  do  it ;  but  the  back  of  a  head  is  mystery. 
Galeotto's  heart  bounded  as  he  brought  his  heels 
together  short,  to  adore  this  girl's  head.  Osten- 
sibly he  looked  at  the  sky  —  since  one  does  not 
commit  one's  self  —  where  over  a  deep  blue  bed 
fleeces  of  golden  cloud  were  drifting  in  the  idle 
wind ;  actually  he  pored  upon  that  upper  window, 
where  through  the  dusty  glass  he  could  discern 
the  bent,  industrious,  pious,  pretty  head.  It  de- 
served the  adjectives  (his  own),  for  the  prettiness 
was  undeniable,  and  the  attitude  implied  needle- 
work or  the  Hours  of  the  Virgin.  It  was  a  small 
head,  as  a  woman's  must  be,  a  round  head,  a  head 
of  brown  hair  softer  and  sunnier  than  any's  of  his 
own  family;  a  head,  finally,  whose  river  of  hair 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  221 

flowed  further  than  he  could  see,  seemed  to  be 
unconfined  and  (as  he  would  have  sworn)  to  be 
rippling  to  a  curled  end.  He  judged  it  to  be  that 
of  a  very  young  head,  and  burned  to  see  the  face 
it  curtained  so  deep.  Was  it  honey  pale,  was  it 
serious  ?  Were  the  eyes  in  it  grave  and  watch- 
ful, or  iridescent  with  gentle  malice  ?  or  provoc- 
ative eyes  ?  Did  ardour  leap  in  it,  as  in  a  leash ; 
or  was  it  rosy,  perhaps,  with  laughter  in  the  curves 
and  mischief  in  the  dimples,  which  (like  eddies) 
play  about  a  girl's  quick  face  ?  Thus  very  May- 
ishly  he  mused ;  and  just  then  saw  the  head  up- 
lift, strain  back  against  the  window  and  rest  there 
inert,  while  the  hair,  flattened  by  the  pressure, 
made  an  aureole  for  this  young  saint.  Our 
youth  was  thrown  into  a  sympathetic  ecstasy  — 
and  certainly  the  figure  is  a  beautiful  one;  he 
addressed  the  skies.  '  Oh,  thou  Well  of  Pity,'  he 
said,  '  thy  postulant  is  weary  of  beseeching  thee ! 
Or  like  a  nymph,  whom  some  grudging  peasant 
has  caught  in  the  pastures  and  caged,  she  beats 
at  the  bars  of  her  growing  body,  restless  for  her 
proper  food ! '  I  think  that  here  he  strained  the 
figure ;  but  he  was  very  much  excited.  '  By  the 
Light  upon  Paphos,'  he  swore,  *  I  must  see  that 
sainted  face ! ' 

"Some  such  authority  gave  him  the  chance; 
for  a  heavy  porter,  lurching  up  the  Via  Larga 
with  a  bale  on  his  shoulder,  drove  him  suddenly 
to  the  wall. 

"  *  Zounds  !  you  mole,'  cried  Galeotto,  '  must 
you  for  ever  blunder  and  gentlemen  pay  the  bill  ? 
For  three  seeds  of  cummin  I  would  run  you  through 
the  ribs.' 


222  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  One  or  two  foot  passengers  stopped  to  listen. 

" '  My  lord,'  said  the  porter  respectfully,  '  the 
proportion  is  immoderate,  as  is  your  pursuit  of 
science.  For  an  astronomer,  as  I  take  your  hon- 
our to  be,  the  night  is  your  time  for  observations. 
You  are  out  of  season,  my  lord,  and  thanks  to  me 
also,  your  honour  is  now  out  of  the  road.' 

"  An  old  friar  who  was,  or  should  have  been, 
passing,  laughed  at  this  sally,  and  so  laid  the  lines 
of  the  great  train  of  logic  I  am  about  to  draw. 
For  it  is  quite  certain  that  if  the  friar  had  not 
laughed  the  porter  had  not  bled,  that  if  the  por- 
ter had  not  bled,  Isotta  had  not — .  But  I 
anticipate.  It  is  also  clear  that  if  to  be  bumped 
out  of  a  love-ecstasy  is  offensive,  to  be  laughed  at 
is  maddening :  one  act  of  madness  is  to  think  red, 
the  next  is  to  see  it.  Messer  Galeotto,  greatly 
nettled,  drew  his  sword;  it  came  out  with  a 
sound  of  swish,  and  went  in  below  the  porter's 
ribs  with  a  sound  of  slick.  The  porter  cried 
'  Misericordia ! '  and  the  crowd,  '  Gesu ! '  The 
street  filled,  all  heads  were  out  of  window,  among 
them  the  fair  young  head  of  the  devotee  who  had 
innocently  caused  these  griefs.  That  would  have 
been  the  moment  for  Galeotto  to  continue  his 
observations  of  the  blue,  and  to  do  him  justice  he 
used  it  so,  until  the  things  of  earth  —  a  posse  of 
the  watch  —  engrossed  his  thoughts  by  encom- 
passing his  body.  He  did  see,  in  a  flash,  an 
eager  face,  all  fire,  intelligence  and  expectancy; 
he  did  see,  for  a  second  of  time,  a  pair  of  red 
parted  lips,  a  pair  of  wide  eyes,  a  fine  young  neck 
on  the  stretch,  a  stream  of  light  on  a  pretty  shape, 
a  vision  of  softness  and  white :  but  no  more  could 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  223 

he  see,  for  the  blades  were  out.  He  was  engaged, 
amid  the  gutturals  of  a  delighted  mob,  in  cloak 
and  sword  work.  His  back  was  to  the  lady's 
door,  his  crooked  left  formed  a  screen  for  his  dig- 
ging right;  the  swords  glinted  and  shivered,  the 
crowd  surged,  blood  flowed;  the  porter's  body 
might  yet  have  been  floated  out  to  the  placid 
reaches  of  the  lagoon.  In  any  case  it  must  have 
gone  ill  with  our  Count  of  the  Empire  who,  if  he 
could  fight  his  man,  could  not  possibly  fight  his 
half  dozen.  So  the  lady  seems  to  have  thought. 
'  They  will  kill  him  unless  I  interfere,  Nencina,' 
she  cried,  half  turning  to  the  room.  The  room 
must  have  shrugged,  for  she  did  so ;  and  went  on 
to  watch  the  desperate  adventure  below.  Pres- 
ently, '  This  is  foolishness,'  she  was  heard  to  say 
to  herself ;  then  she  turned  altogether  and  disap- 
peared. In  a  few  minutes  more  the  bolts  flew 
back,  the  door  opened ;  she  received  into  her 
arms  the  honourable  burden  of  Galeotto's  back. 
Stumbling  in,  blessed  beyond  his  hopes,  deep  in 
porter's  blood  and  his  own,  deeper  in  love,  but 
deepest  in  peril  of  the  cage,  the  youth  had  suffi- 
cient wit  left  to  play  the  part  of  prudence  before 
he  declared  himself  a  lover.  He  pushed-to  the 
door,  barred  it,  bolted  it ;  then  fell  upon  one  knee 
before  his  preserver,  and  slightly  varying  the 
legend  of  his  house,  did  deprecating  homage  with 
the  words,  'Nee  dea  intersit  nisi  dignus  vindice 
nodus' 

"  With  the  watch  thundering  at  the  door  the 
time  was  ill-judged  for  paraphrase ;  the  young  lady 
looked  calmly  at  Galeotto.  '  I  am  no  latinist,  sir,' 
she  replied ;  '  but  I  suppose  you  refer  to  the  death 


224  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

of  the  porter.  He  was  in  my  father's  employment 
—  a  useful  man.  However,  we  have  a  substitute 
in  you.  You  are  wounded,  I  see.  This  noise  is 
deafening.  Come  away  from  the  door  and  I  will 
help  you  as  much  as  I  can.' 

" '  Madonna,  the  wound  is  internal,'  said  Gale- 
otto,  still  kneeling :  '  it  is  in  the  region  of  the 
heart.' 

"  The  lady  looked  grave.  '  It  is  worse  than  I 
thought,'  she  said.  '  But  I  will  do  my  best.' 

" '  Ah,  your  least  is  my  salvation ! '  cried  the 
happy  youth,  and  kissed  her  hand.  She  received 
the  homage  with  great  composure :  but  affairs 
were  really  urgent. 

"  *  At  this  rate,'  said  she,  '  we  may  expect  the 
door  down  and  a  full  house  in  twenty  minutes. 
It  is  no  time  for  gallantry.  Please  to  follow  me.' 
Galeotto  obeyed  her  as  rapturously  as  a  stiff  leg 
allowed.  She  took  him  without  a  word  to  that 
upper  room  whose  depths  a  little  while  before  had 
thrilled  him  with  romantic  imagining.  Once  there, 
he  submitted  to  her  ministry,  finding  in  every  little 
cry  of  concern,  every  wave  of  her  sympathy,  every 
pass  of  her  deft  hands,  quick  poise  of  her  head  or 
touch  of  her  gentle  fingers,  matter  for  ravishment 
of  sense  or  stuff  for  a  madrigal.  He  had  not  come 
unscarred  from  the  tussle.  His  dress  was  dis- 
ordered, his  hair  gave  shocks.  He  had  lost  his 
plumed  cap,  his  white  leg  was  speckled  here  and 
there  with  porter's  blood,  down  his  green  leg 
meandered  his  own  like  a  lazy  brook  among 
water-meadows.  One  shoe  had  been  in  the 
gutter,  one  was  still  there ;  his  cloak  was  pricked 
like  a  pounce-box.  The  young  lady,  kneeling  on 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  225 

the  floor  in  front  of  him,  pinched  her  red  lip  as 
she  considered  his  case. 

"  *  Why  did  you  kill  the  porter  ? '  she  presently 
asked  him.  Her  eyes,  clear,  green  and  steadfast, 
made  his  heart  jump.  They  made  him,  also,  rea- 
son a  priori  against  the  truth  and  the  best  systems 
of  philosophy ;  they  made  him  answer  her  as  he 
thought  her  beauty  deserved. 

"  *  Can  you  ask  me,  Madonna  ? '  he  replied.  *  It 
was  that  the  sound  of  his  fall  might  cause  you  to 
turn  your  head.' 

" '  I  think  it  has  turned  your  own/  said  the  lady, 
'for  I  find  your  reason  a  poor  one;  and  I  hope 
you  perceive  how  I  am  involved  in  the  scrape. 
If  you  cannot  remain  here,  certainly  I  cannot 
either.  My  father,  it  is  true,  set  a  high  value 
upon  that  porter;  but  he  sets  a  higher  value  on 
me.  To  have  me  haled  before  the  Podesta  in  his 
absence,  or  set  to  huddle  in  the  cage  with  an  un- 
known gentleman,  would  do  him  a  mortal  injury 
and  be  a  sorry  return  for  all  his  affection.  I  must 
go  away  for  a  time,  and  the  sooner  the  better.' 

" 4 1,  too,  must  go  away,'  said  Galeotto,  trem- 
bling. '  It  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  face  my 
mother  in  this  state,  equally  so  to  attend  the 
Duke's  levee.  Oh,  Madonna ! '  he  cried  suddenly, 
'  Let  us  fly  together ! ' 

"  The  lady  considered  the  position ;  her  head, 
held  sideways,  looked  charmingly  wise.  The 
rough  music  of  the  street  continued. 

" '  The  door  must  fall  in  ten  minutes,'  she  said. 
'  It  is  time  to  act.  Where  do  you  propose  to  take 
shelter  ? ' 

"  *  A   swamp    were    paradise    by   your    side ! ' 


226  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

exclaimed  Galeotto.  '  But  I  suggest  Venice, 
where  I  have  a  relative  in  good  odour  with  the 
Signiory.  Widow  of  my  cousin  Raniero,  she  is 
called  Donna  Camilla,  a  lady  as  handsome  as  she 
is  young,  as  rich  as  she  is  hospitable  —  at  least,  so 
she  is  reported.  If  we  could  leave  Mantua  we 
should  be  safe  with  her;  and  with  you,  lady,  for 
my  bride ' 

"  He  stopped  unachieved  because  the  lady 
looked  at  him  in  a  peculiar  way.  It  was  curiously 
the  look  of  his  mother  the  Countess  if  he  ven- 
tured the  suggestion  that  peaches  in  the  garden 
were  meant  to  be  eaten.  The  Countess  had 
looked :  *  Let  me  find  you  eating  one,  my  son.' 
So  looked  this  young  lady. 

" '  What  you  say  is  excellent  sense  up  to  a 
point,'  said  she  ;  '  beyond  it  I  reserve  my  com- 
ments. But  I  think  I  will  go  to  Venice,  and  to 
your  cousin  Donna  Camilla.  It  will  be  necessary 
for  you  to  lend  me  your  clothes  and  name.  What, 
may  I  ask,  is  the  latter  ? ' 

"  '  It  is  Count  Galeotto  Galeotti,  most  adorable 
lady!'  cried  the  Count.  '  But  when  you  have  had 
it  for  a  little  while  it  will  be  Saint  Galeotto,  and 
my  poor  clothes  will  be  relics.' 

" '  They  are  not  much  better  now,  thanks  to 
your  precipitation,'  said  she;  'but  they  must 
serve  me  for  default  of  others.  Honestly,  I  see 
no  shorter  way  out  of  the  mess.  But  if  I  am  you, 
what  will  you  be  ? ' 

"'Sacred  lady,'  he  replied,  'if  you  go  in  my 
person,  I  must  go  in  another's.  That  is  a  plain 
inference.  Now,  since  I  am  utterly  your  servant, 
let  me  go  with  truth.  I  will  go  as  your  servant.' 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  227 

"'Nothing  could  suit  me  so  well,'  said  the  lady. 
'  My  real  name  is  Isotta  Beltraffi ;  but  while  I  am 
Count  Galeotti  (which  I  hope  will  not  be  for  long), 
you  shall  be  my  servant  Fabrizio.  That  was  the 
porter's  name.' 

"  '  Happy,  happy  Fabrizio  ! '  cried  the  enchanted 
young  man;  'Now  art  thou  in  paradise,  Fabrizio  !' 

"  '  I  sincerely  hope  so,'  said  Isotta.  '  But  I  per- 
ceive that  they  have  got  the  door  down.  We  have 
no  time  to  lose.  Kindly  follow  me:  you  must 
remove  your  clothes  while  I  find  you  some  which 
suit  your  new  station  in  life.  We  have  a  boat  on 
the  lagoon  which  will  take  us  safely  over.' 

"  So  saying  she  conducted  him  to  a  remote  part 
of  the  house ;  and  while  the  police  were  unmask- 
ing the  servants  below,  the  real  actors  in  the 
drama  were  masking  above. 

"  A  sandolo  Jay  close  under  the  wall,  and  was 
reached  easily  from  a  little  window.  The  new 
Galeotto,  the  new  Fabrizio,  found  no  difficulties 
which  could  not  be  surmounted,  though  the  heart 
of  one  at  least  was  often  in  his  mouth.  The 
master  sat  cloaked  in  the  well ;  the  man  took  the 
poop  to  work  the  oar.  They  slipped  along  under 
the  lee  of  the  houses  until,  having  passed  a  jut- 
ting corner,  they  opened  the  belfry  of  Santa 
Barbara;  then,  striking  boldly  across,  they  shot 
the  Ponte  San  Giorgio  by  a  middle  arch,  and 
found  themselves  far  from  pursuit  in  the  lower 
lake.  Here  safety  was.  They  navigated  it  from 
end  to  end ;  instead  of  slipping  into  the  reeds  on 
the  further  shore,  grown  bold  by  use,  they  took  the 
quay  at  San  Vito,  left  the  boat,  walked  across 
the  fields  to  Sustinente,  and  there  hired  a  bark 


228  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

and  two  rowers  to  take  them  down  the  Po.  It  is 
proper  to  say  that  the  pretended  Galeotto  directed 
all  these  simple  operations;  the  real  was  for  hid- 
ing in  every  pollard  they  came  by.  Isotta  laughed 
at  him. 

" '  It  is  as  well  that  you  play  servant  in  our 
affairs,'  she  said :  '  we  should  both  be  in  the 
Gabbia  by  this  time  if  I  had  followed  your  rules. 
Can  you  not  understand  that  two  men  lurking 
in  a  small  tree  must  always  make  a  curious,  and 
generally  a  suspicious  appearance,  whereas  walk- 
ing on  a  hard  road  they  are  nothing  out  of  the 
ordinary?  And  you  are  a  courtier,  and  I  the 
daughter  of  a  woolcarder !  What  am  I  to  think  ? ' 

"'You  are  to  think  that  your  beauty  has  en- 
grossed my  wits,  Madonna,  if  you  think  of  me  at 
all,'  said  the  enamoured  Galeotto. 

" '  If  I  were  to  think  of  you  seriously,'  replied 
Isotta,  '  I  should  relinquish  the  adventure.  My 
beauty,  as  you  call  it,  has  more  important  things 
to  do  than  to  engross  what  wits  you  have  left. 
I  have  never  been  to  Venice,  and  as  for  your 
cousin  Donna  Camilla,  who  is  now  to  be  my 
cousin,  I  had  never  heard  of  her  until  an  hour 
ago.  Please  to  tell  me  something  more  precise 
about  her.' 

" '  Oh,  set  me  harder  tasks,  most  lovely  mas- 
ter ! '  cried  Galeotto. 

" '  I  will  at  need,  I  assure  you,'  said  Isotta. 
'  Meantime  oblige  me  in  this  particular.' 

"  Galeotto  complied.  But  I  think  your  lady- 
ships will  do  better  with  my  account. 

"  Donna  Camilla,  then,  was  a  dove-eyed,  dim- 
pled lady  of  not  more  than  twenty-five  years  old, 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  229 

widow  of  a  dead  Raniero  Galeotti,  a  famous  cap- 
tain of  the  Republic's,  much  older  than  his  wife 

—  a  man  of  energy,  a  man  of  some  violence,  a 
man  of  white  hairs.     He  had  been  exorbitantly 
fond  of  her  in  his  lifetime,  had  made  her  so  com- 
fortable, and  by  his  death  left  her  so,  that  although 
she  had  been  three  years  a  widow  she  had  seen 
no  reason  to  change  her  estate.    Quite  otherwise  : 
common  gratitude  suggested  that  she  should  con- 
tinue to  mourn  a  man  whose  demise  had  been  of 
such  extreme  advantage.     A  palace  on  the  Rio 
Pantaleone,   a  domain  (with  a  summer  villa)  at 
Bassano,  a  houseful  of  old  (and  quiet)  servants, 
her  wishes  foreseen,  her  whims  condoned,  a  large 
number  of  suitors,  and  the  memory  of  her  windy 
old  lord  to   make  their  daily  rejection  at  once 
luxury  and  sacrifice:  —  what  more  could  Donna 
Camilla  want?    Absolutely  nothing,  she  declared. 
She  was  her  own  lover;  more  than  that,  her  ser- 
vants were  so  old,  so  much  in  authority,  yet  so 
indulgent,  that  her  position  was  rather  that  of  a 
lapped  favourite  than  a  mistress;  she  was  like  a 
pet  child  with  twenty  fathers  and  four-and-twenty 
mothers  instead  of  an  ordinary  couple.     Two  de- 
mands upon  society  are  made  by  a  Donna  Camilla 

—  fondling,  and  an  object  of  gentle  tears.     She 
got  the  first  at  home ;  the  second  she  found  in  a 
portly  alabaster  monument  which  she  had  caused 
to  be  set  up  in  the  Church  of  Saint  John  and 
Saint  Paul.     To  exchange  this  ease  and  security 
for  a   new  Venetian  lord  was  not  at  all  to  her 
mind.     Such    an   one   would  expect  more  than 
tears;  he   would    only  fondle  while   expectation 
remained.     Expectation  satisfied,  the  object  re- 


23o  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

duced  into  possession,  love  would  fly  out  of 
window  and  the  noble  Venetian  be  free  for  com- 
merce. If  she  knew  her  countrymen  this  was 
certain:  there  were  not  many  Don  Ranieros  in 
Venice.  Having  such  views,  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  Donna  Camilla  remained  sole.  She 
was  never  tired  of  enlarging  to  her  new  maid 
Estella  upon  her  exact  advantages. 

" '  I  am  here,'  she  said,  '  as  snug  as  a  fish  in  the 
sea.  There  is  no  romance  in  Venice;  nothing 
but  fishing.  Is  not  marriage  a  net  ?  Some  day 
you  will  know  it,  child,  as  well  as  I  do.' 

"  But  Estella,  a  pretty  young  woman,  hung  her 
head  and  sighed.  Marriage  was  precisely  the  net 
in  which  she  hoped  to  entangle  Donna  Camilla. 

"  I  would  not  on  any  account  deceive  your 
ladyships.  Estella,  as  well  as  being  the  youngest 
maid  in  Donna  Camilla's  service,  was  the  son  of 
a  gondolier  of  San  Nicolb  —  a  lad  of  parts  who, 
having  been  egged  on  to  precocity  by  the  atten- 
tions of  his  quarter,  had  flattered  himself  into  a 
passion  for  the  lady  of  Don  Raniero,  and  for  a 
year  or  two  paid  her  such  homage  as  he  could. 
This  had  been  very  innocently  accepted  on  her 
part,  since  she  knew  nothing  in  the  world  about 
it.  The  Dominicans,  who  had  taught  him  his 
book,  had  encouraged  his  singing-voice  and  put 
him  in  the  choir.  In  time  he  had  been  advanced 
to  be  assistant  to  the  sacristan  of  Saint  John  and 
Saint  Paul.  As  such,  he  had  first  seen  Donna 
Camilla,  as  such  performed  his  small  office  at  the 
obsequies  of  Don  Raniero,  and  stood  by  sympa- 
thetically whenever,  after  that,  Donna  Camilla 
had  deplored  his  remains.  He  was  diligent  in 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  231 

small  services  —  dusted  the  pavement  for  her 
knees,  bowed  her  from  and  to  her  gondola,  pol- 
ished the  handsome  sarcophagus,  the  shining 
alabaster  bosom,  the  shining  head  of  the  effigy, 
sniffed  once  or  twice  a  day  in  accord  with  her 
sighs ;  these  things  he  did  until  he  believed  him- 
self her  lover.  And  because  to  think  yourself  a 
thing  is  to  be  that  thing,  her  lover  (at  this  dis- 
tance) he  actually  was.  Now  to  love  is  to  desire, 
and  to  desire  to  grow.  To  grow  is  to  need  new 
clothes. 

"  Eugenic,  that  was  his  true  name,  apart  from 
his  humble  station  in  life,  felt  that  he  had  more  to 
recommend  him  than  his  gains  represented.  He 
was  very  good  looking,  very  intelligent ;  he  took 
himself  very  seriously,  knew  himself  very  prudent. 
'  The  problem  before  me,'  he  told  himself,  '  is  how 
to  see  my  adorable  mistress  without  risk  of  obser- 
vation. One  does  not  marry  precipitately,  blindly; 
and  here  in  the  church  I  see  but  one  side  of  her 
—  the  pious.  It  would  be  only  right — if  I  am 
to  commit  myself  —  that  I  should  consider  her  in 
moments  of  relaxation  —  gay,  discreet,  witty,  ar- 
dent, as  I  am  sure  she  must  sometimes  be.  The 
difficulties  of  drawing  her  into  a  general  conversa- 
tion when  she  is  lamenting  departed  merit  are  ex- 
treme. You  cannot  expect  her  to  detach  herself 
from  her  surroundings;  the  transition  is  too  abrupt, 
hardly  delicate,  even.  On  the  other  hand,  to  engage 
her  outside,  in  the  piazza,  on  the  riva,  when  she 
steps  into  or  out  of  her  gondola — that  would  be  to 
expose  myself,  possibly  to  ridicule,  certainly  to  a  re- 
buff or  rebuffs.  Conversation  would  be  forced  ;  I 
should  not  do  myself  justice,  nor  would  she.  Then 


232  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

there  is  another  thing.  Assume  she  pleases,  as- 
sume I  advance :  the  advantages  I  have  to  offer 
her  — devotion,  some  natural  shrewdness,  youth,  a 
handsome  person  —  need  gradual  discovery  for 
their  efficiency.  They  are  like  slow-ripening  fruits, 
which  need  warmth  and  light  for  maturity.  To 
fall  on  my  knees,  to  clasp  hers,  to  press  her  hand, 
to  weep  before  her  —  anyone  can  play  such  antics; 
I'll  be  bound  to  say  that  some  hundreds  have 
played  them.  And  with  what  result?  With 
none.  No,  no ;  that  is  not  the  way  to  work.  The 
same  good  genius  which  counsels  me  to  consider 
the  lady's  character  urges  the  greatest  delibera- 
tion in  revealing  my  passion.' 

"  He  thought  long  and  carefully  over  the  prob- 
lem before  he  hit  upon  the  plan  which  places  him 
so  hopefully  before  us ;  it  was  indeed  a  chance  in- 
quiry of  the  lady's  directed  to  his  Sacristan,  for  a 
respectable  young  maid  to  act  in  the  still-room, 
which  finally  decided  him.  '  Very  properly,' 
Donna  Camilla  had  said,  '  I  have  kept  on  all  my 
good  husband's  servants.  Poor  dear !  they  have 
grown  up  with  him ;  and  now  he  has  given  them 
the  slip.  They  make  me  very  comfortable,  are  all 
that  servants  should  be ;  but  they  are  far  from 
sprightly.  And  while  I  should  never  suffer  a  new- 
comer to  encroach  upon  their  rights,  to  be  about 
my  immediate  person,  for  instance,  yet  they  can- 
not live  for  ever;  and  it  is  a  bad  thing  for  a  widow 
to  let  her  weeds  encumber  her.  I  need  a  little 
worldly  conversation  now  and  again  —  not  cere- 
monious or  courtly,  of  which  I  have  more  than 
enough,  but  familiar  without  being  licentious, 
jocularity  robbed  of  its  vulgar  sting.  Find  me  a 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  233 

decent  young  woman  for  training,  Don  Ruggiero, 
if  you  can.'  The  decent  young  woman  who  waited 
upon  Donna  Camilla  next  day  was  Eugenic,  and 
not  of  Don  Ruggiero's  recommendation :  he  was 
engaged  upon  the  spot. 

"  The  lady  had  never  regretted  it.  Estella  was 
a  charming  companion,  a  good  needle-woman,  had 
great  taste  as  a  dressmaker,  was  industrious,  dis- 
creet, trustworthy:  upon  occasion  her  faculty  of 
humorous  observation  was  a  delight  to  her  mis- 
tress. Eugenic,  too,  was  perfectly  contented  :  he 
was  more  and  more  satisfied  with  the  mind  and 
person  of  Donna  Camilla.  It  is  true,  he  stood  in 
a  very  humble  capacity,  never  as  yet  in  one  of 
confidential  service.  He  knew  that  he  was  on 
promotion ;  but  he  saw  the  lady  of  his  choice, 
talked  with  her,  wrote  her  notes,  accompanied  her 
in  her  walks  on  the  Piazza,  went  with  her  to 
church,  made  her  clothes,  and  so  on.  He  was  no 
nearer  to  declaration,  of  course ;  seeing  that  she 
had  no  conception  that  he  was  not  Estella,  one 
would  be  inclined  to  say  she  could  have  none  that 
he  was  really  Eugenio.  Perhaps  the  youth  had  a 
relish  for  mystery :  it  is  said  to  be  the  root  of  all 
the  romance  and  half  the  love-affairs  of  the  world. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  this  was  the  position  of  Donna 
Camilla's  household  upon  the  day  of  the  arrival 
of  a  letter,  brought  by  a  heated  messenger,  to 
announce  the  presence  in  Venice  of  her  cousin, 
Don  Galeotto  Galeotti,  attended  by  his  servant. 
The  writer  implored  his  kinswoman's  hospitality 
until  a  certain  local  storm  in  Mantua  had  blown 
over:  he  expressed  himself  with  vivacity  and 
point 


234  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

"  *  My  cousin  writes  a  brisk  letter,'  said  Donna 
Camilla,  'which  savours  (but  not  unpleasantly) 
of  impertinence.  What  have  I  to  do  with  the 
weather  in  Mantua?  He  is  probably  very  young: 
I  hope  his  servant  is  less  so.  I  have  to  think  of 
you,  child.'  Estella,  not  best  pleased,  had  to  think 
of  her  mistress.  She  was  bid  write  a  letter  to 
Galeotto  at  his  inn  assuring  him  of  a  friendly 
welcome.  About  noon  he  came. 

"  All  doubts  as  to  his  youth  and  impertinence 
were  immediately  set  at  rest.  He  had  both ;  but 
wore  them  so  pleasantly  that  one  would  have  re- 
gretted their  absence.  The  servant,  Donna  Ca- 
milla was  pleased  to  see,  seemed  a  backward  fellow. 
Don  Galeotto  came  quickly  forward  into  the  hall 
and  kissed  his  cousin  on  both  cheeks. 

"  '  The  deaths  of  fifty  porters,'  he  said  gallantly, 
'  would  not  have  been  too  great  a  price  for  this. 
Besides,  cousins  have  a  blood-tie,  not  always  rec- 
ognized, to  which  that  of  a  porter  or  two  may 
well  be  sacrificed.'  He  kissed  Donna  Camilla 
again,  then  let  his  tongue  run  on  to  the  wonders 
of  Venice. 

" '  A  well-set  jewel  indeed,  this  Venice  ! '  he  ex- 
claimed. '  What !  an  opal  to  swim  in  a  bed  of 
sapphire !  Your  canals  are  streams  of  blue  wonder, 
your  palaces  fired  pearls  —  by  which  understand 
opals,  dear  Camilla.  We  came  by  the  lagoon 
from  Adria ;  we  saw  your  Venice  resting  in  the 
water  like  a  sea-bird,  a  flake,  a  white  roseleaf  adrift 
in  hyacinth !  And  within  your  walls,  fresh  de- 
light. What  deep  spaces,  what  shade,  what  rest ! 
What  queenly  hostesses ! '  Here  he  pressed 
Donna  Camilla's  hand.  '  What  fresh  maids ! ' 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  235 

And  here  he  patted  Estella's  cheek.  'Cousin 
Camilla,'  he  assured  her,  'the  death  of  a  porter 
took  me  from  Mantua ;  suicide  only  will  sever  me 
from  Venice.  It  is  a  beautiful  thought  that  one 
and  the  same  act  have  won  paradise  for  a  man 
and  his  killer.'  So  he  ran  on,  talking  a  language 
which  was  implicitly  flattering  if  explicitly  Greek 
to  Donna  Camilla  (who  knew  nothing  of  Mantuan 
porters),  but  was  at  all  events  extremely  exhilarat- 
ing and  pleasant.  She  offered  him  a  collation ; 
he  took  her  hand. 

"  *  If  you  will  be  my  partner,  cousin,  we  will 
collate  all  the  afternoon,'  he  said.  *  Let  my  ser- 
vant dispose  of  himself  to  your  least  annoyance. 
He  must  make  purchases  for  me  before  nightfall : 
I  left  Mantua  hurriedly.  But  I  can  tell  you  all 
that  at  table.  Thank  Heaven  for  the  gift  of 
tongues.' 

" '  Heaven  has  enriched  you  indeed,  Galeotto,' 
said  Donna  Camilla.  Then  to  her  maid.  '  Estella, 
take  the  Signer  Conte's  man  to  the  still-room,  and 
see  that  he  wants  for  nothing.' 

"  *  His  name  is  Fabrizio,'  said  the  surprising 
cousin :  '  he  will  have  a  pretty  hostess.  Fabrizio, 
remember  that  the  man  is  ape  of  his  master.  Ape 
me  with  discretion,  if  you  please,  for  the  credit  of 
Mantua.'  He  then  followed  Donna  Camilla  to 
the  Salotto,  leaving  a  very  rueful  man  to  the  at- 
tentions of  a  very  unwilling  maid. 

"  Whatever  the  poets  may  say,  it  is  a  mistake  to 
press  analogies  home :  the  disadvantages  of  being 
a  servant  when  you  are  properly  a  lover  are  made 
manifest  when  the  dream  becomes  fact.  Here  was 
a  pair  of  lovers,  at  any  rate,  indifferently  pleased 


236  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

by  the  turn  of  affairs ;  one  separated  from  his 
mistress,  the  other  as  near  to  her,  indeed,  as  ever, 
but  in  a  very  critical  situation,  unable  to  push  his 
reasonable  claims.  The  pretended  Fabrizio  barely 
saw  his  beloved  Isotta ;  the  pretended  Estella  en- 
joyed more,  but  also  he  suffered  more.  He  was 
desperately  jealous  of  the  lively  young  gentleman 
who,  as  the  days  went  on,  grew  to  be  on  such 
familiar  terms  with  Donna  Camilla.  Fabrizio  was 
jealous  also,  but  not  on  a  sure  ground ;  the  utmost 
he  could  say  was  that  what  he  knew  to  be  inno- 
cent the  actors  did  not  know.  But  Estella  (who 
knew  less  than  he)  saw  the  very  fabric  of  his  plans 
crumble  before  his  eyes ;  they  could  have  dissolved 
no  faster  if  Eugenio  had  remained  Eugenio.  His 
was  the  more  desperate  situation ;  it  made  him  a 
morose  companion  for  the  still-room,  where  Fabrizio 
sat  gloomily  day  by  day,  unamused  and  unamus- 
ing.  It  was  on  the  edge  of  his  tongue  to  confide 
in  the  valet;  sometimes  he  had  hopes  that  his 
romantic  history  might  appeal  to  him ;  but  Fabri- 
zio seemed  to  hold  him  off  in  some  unaccountable 
way,  and  to  belie  all  he  had  ever  heard  of  the 
assurance  of  gentlemen's  gentleman.  With  Donna 
Camilla  he  had  chances  now  and  again  of  putting 
in  a  seasonable  word.  He  ventured  one  evening 
to  throw  doubts  upon  the  young  Count's  ingenu- 
ousness. '  My  lady,'  said  he,  '  a  nobleman  who 
can  kill  a  porter  to  make  a  lady  (not  your  lady- 
ship, observe)  turn  her  head  round  must  be  one 
of  two  things  —  so  careless  of  life  as  to  be  un- 
worthy to  keep  it,  or  so  curious  in  love  as  to  be 
dangerous  to  our  sex.  At  least,  it  seems  so  to 
me.' 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  237 

"'Why,  girl,'  said  Donna  Camilla,  'have  you 
had  a  tiff  with  Fabrizio  that  you  decry  gallantry  ? 
I  thought  in  your  class  you  valued  a  swain  by  the 
length  of  his  arm.' 

" '  Some  may  do  so,  madama,'  replied  the  maid ; 
'  but  I  think  a  long  head  is  the  better  property. 
Long  ears  often  go  with  long  arms.' 

" '  Long  tongues  appear  to  go  with  maids,'  said 
Donna  Camilla,  nettled :  '  Estella,  you  are  hurting 
me  detestably.  I  hate  clumsy  fingers.'  Estella 
was  silenced. 

"  On  his  side,  Fabrizio  was  sinking  into  a  settled 
melancholy.  Absence  from  his  mother  may  have 
had  much  to  do  with  it ;  absence  from  the  court, 
of  which  he  was  such  a  real  ornament,  a  little ;  no 
doubt,  the  growing  intimacy  of  Donna  Camilla  and 
his  mistress  had  most  of  all.  He  honestly  admired 
Donna  Camilla.  What  embarrassed  him  was,  that 
just  what  Isotta  seemed  to  him,  Donna  Camilla 
found  her  also,  and  that  just  as  he  found  Donna 
Camilla  delightful,  so  Isotta  seemed  to  delight  in 
her.  After  a  little  while  letters  began  to  arrive 
from  Mantua,  addressed  in  a  hand  which  he 
knew  very  well,  to  Count  Galeotto  Galeotti.  His 
mother!  He  was  on  the  point  of  opening  the 
first  of  these  when  Estella  happened  to  look  over 
his  shoulder.  '  Hey ! '  said  this  pert  young  woman, 
'  What  are  you  about,  Fabrizio  ?  Is  this  the  way 
of  Mantuan  lacqueys  ?  Read  your  master's  let- 
ters ?  You  will  be  serenading  his  mistress  next.' 
Galeotto  had  no  choice  but  to  take  Isotta  his 
mother's  letter,  to  stand  by  while  she  broke  the 
seal  and  galloped  through  the  contents,  to  see  her 
crush  it  up  and  throw  it  in  the  fire,  and  to  be  dis- 


238  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

missed  with  the  curtest  nod  he  had  ever  seen 
imperil  the  urbanity  of  a  lady.  This  was  very 
mortifying,  yet  worse  was  to  come.  It  seems  that 
so  soon  as  the  Countess  had  ascertained  the  where- 
abouts of  her  son,  she  fired  off  letter  after  letter 
to  Venice.  All  these  Isotta  read,  many  of  them 
she  discussed  candidly  with  Donna  Camilla.  Her 
references  to  his  mother  always  amazed  and  some- 
times shocked  him. 

"  *  The  old  dragoon  has  the  gout,  cousin,'  Isotta 
would  say.  The  old  dragoon  ! 

" '  Mantua  is  in  a  ferment,'  he  learned  at  another 
reading.  '  They  threaten  my  mother  with  the 
question.  The  cage  may  be  her  fate  yet.'  The 
question  !  The  cage  for  his  mother !  The  thing 
was  getting  most  serious.  He  had  yet  to  learn 
that  at  serious  times  Isotta  husbanded  her  words. 
That  day  came  when,  on  the  receipt  of  a  shortish 
letter,  she  pinched  her  pretty  lip.  Donna  Camilla, 
looking  over  her  shoulder,  shrieked,  then  grew 
tremulous.  Tears  filled  her  eyes :  '  Dear,  dearest 
Galeotto,  we  will  suffer  together ! '  she  urged : 
'  Oh,  give  me  that  poor  right ! '  Whereupon 
Isotta  kissed  her;  and  then,  with  intention,  dis- 
missed Fabrizio.  Donna  Camilla  took  the  hint, 
and  dismissed  Estella,  who  had  been  panting 
by  the  wall.  The  disconsolate  pair  of  servants 
strayed  into  the  garden.  Estella  sat  down  on  the 
nearest  seat  and  began  to  kick  holes  in  the  gravel. 
Fabrizio  took  her  hand. 

"'  Don't  do  that,' said  Estella;  'that  is  no  sport 
for  me.'  Fabrizio  struck  his  forehead. 

" '  Heaven  knows  what  it  is  to  me,  Estella ! '  he 
said,  sighing  profoundly. 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  239 

" '  This  pig  is  about  to  propose  to  me,'  thought 
Estella,  and  looked  sulkily  at  the  ground. 

" '  You  consider  it  beneath  your  notice,  no 
doubt,'  Fabrizio  pursued,  '  that  a  mere  lacquey 
should  seek  the  sympathies  of  a  virtuous  and 
modest  young  woman  —  for  however  humble  your 
station,  such  I  am  sure  you  are.  I  cannot  deny 
your  feeling ;  yet  I  entreat  you  to  consider  me  a 
little  more  anxiously  before  you  spurn  me  away.' 

" '  What  do  you  mean,  Fabrizio  ? '  said  Estella, 
looking  at  him.  Fabrizio  took  her  hand  again. 

" '  I  am  not  what  I  appear,  Estella,  believe  it/ 
he  said.  '  Nothing  but  an  overmastering  pas- 
sion   ' 

" '  Heavens ! '  said  Estella  —  but  he  went  on  — 
'  combined  with  a  not  unreasonable  respect  for  my 
mother,  would  have  driven  me  to  the  condition  in 
which  I  find  myself.' 

"  *  Is  this  your  case  indeed  ? '  cried  Estella,  much 
interested.  '  Listen  then ;  it  is  on  all-fours  with 
my  own.  Never  was  such  a  singular  thing.  I 
also  suffer  from  an  attachment  which  is  to  me  as 
a  goad  to  a  mule.  I  also,  I  assure  you,  am  very 
far  from  being  what  I  seem.  Like  you,  as  well 
as  being  in  love,  I  go  in  fear  of  my  father's  stick.' 

"  Fabrizio  pressed  the  maid's  hand  tenderly. 
'  This  ought  to  draw  us  nearer  to  one  another, 
dear  Estella,'  he  said.  '  It  is  a  striking  case.' 

" '  It  would  be,  I  can  tell  you,'  Estella  agreed, 
'  if  my  father's  stick  came  within  reach  of  my  back. 
I  suppose  you  have  the  same  feeling.' 

" '  My  mother  uses  her  crutch,'  said  Fabrizio 
seriously.  '  Dear  Estella,  I  could  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  declare  myself  —  did  I  not ' 


240  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

" '  I  beg  that  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,' 
said  Estella ;  '  there  is  no  knowing  what  might 
come  of  it.  My  own  affair  is  on  the  tip  of  my 
tongue.  And  surely  you  have  held  my  hand  long 
enough.' 

" '  Ten  thousand  pardons,'  cried  Fabrizio :  '  I 
had  forgotten  the  circumstance.' 

"  A  slight  noise  on  the  gravel  caused  the  two 
unfortunates  to  look  hastily  round :  it  was  too 
late ;  Donna  Camilla  and  her  cousin  had  both 
seen  the  tender  situation.  The  former  turned  it 
deftly  to  serve  her  own  occasions.  '  Here,  cousin,' 
she  said,  '  are  our  servants  teaching  us  wisdom. 
Your  Fabrizio  knows  what  he  is  about.' 

" '  It  seems  so  indeed,'  replied  Galeotto,  with  a 
needlessly  high  colour.  '  If  that  is  his  wisdom,  he 
shall  reap  the  reward  of  it  as  soon  as  you  please. 
I  knew  that  he  had  the  spirit  of  a  shrew-mouse ; 
but  Estella  must  be  an  expert.  A  pest  on  him ! 
Let  her  have  him  by  all  means.' 

"  '  Ah,  Galeotto,'  sighed  the  love-lorn  lady, '  that 
is  not  the  only  match  I  could  agree  to.  But  let 
the  example  be  complete.  Next  week  is  the  fair 
at  San-Pietro-in-Castello,  when  as  perhaps  you 
know,  weddings,  for  a  day,  are  a  matter  of  hand- 
fasting  in  the  piazza.  Shall  we  send  in  these  two  ? ' 

" '  If  Fabrizio's  tastes  are  in  that  quarter,'  said 
Galeotto  with  intention,  '  I  am  only  too  thankful 
to  have  known  it  —  and  to  indulge  him.' 

"  Donna  Camilla  called  to  her  maid :  '  Come 
hither,  child.' 

"  Estella  having  curtsied,  the  lady  patted  her 
cheek.  'You  have  been  a  good  servant  to  me, 
Estella,'  says  she,  '  and  I  will  show  you  that  I  am 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  241 

not  ungrateful.  It  is  true,  I  had  intended  to  pro- 
mote you  had  you  stayed  a  little  longer ;  but  hav- 
ing won  the  affection  of  an  honest  fellow  I  cannot 
stand  in  his  way.' 

"  Estella  at  this  began  to  raise  a  voice  — '  Oh, 
my  lady,  I  beg  of  you !  Oh,  my  lady,  the  last 
thought !  Oh,  my  lady ! '  and  so  on.  Here  was 
a  pretty  end  to  a  pretty  beginning !  but  Donna 
Camilla  pursued  her  benevolent  schemes. 

" '  Not  too  much  protest,  my  dear,'  she  said 
with  a  reproving  smile,  'or  I  shall  think  the 
Signer  Conte  right  in  his  suspicions,  that  it  is 
you  who  have  led  on  poor  Fabrizio.  Look  at 
him,  child,  he  is  blushing  for  you.  No,  no.  He 
shall  take  you  to  good  San-Pietro,  and  I  will  see 
that  you  have  your  festa  in  proper  Venetian 
fashion,  and  a  sound  roof  to  your  heads  after- 
wards. Meantime  you  shall  spend  the  honey- 
moon here.' 

"  It  was  time,  Fabrizio  felt,  to  protest.  Very 
respectfully  he  approached  Donna  Camilla. 

" '  Madonna,'  said  he,  '  I  am  most  sensible, 
believe  me,  of  your  ladyship's  beneficence,  the 
grateful  acceptance  of  which  on  my  part  is  only 
prevented  by  the  conviction  of  my  own  unworthi- 
ness.  Madam,  between  this  amiable  young  person 
and  myself  there  is  a  barrier.  Madam,  as  I  have 
told  her  when  she  did  me  the  honour  to  offer  me 
her  person  and  heart,  I  am  not  what  I  must  seem 
to  your  ladyship.' 

" '  Nor  am  I,  my  lady,  I  assure  you ! '  put  in 
Estella;  'and  as  for  proposals  —  oh,  Madam,  if 
you  but  knew  how  impossible  is  the  thought ! ' 

" '  I  appeal  to  my  master ! '   cried  the  desper- 


242  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

ate  Fabrizio.     Donna  Camilla,  unused   to  being 
thwarted,  frowned. 

" '  Fabrizio,'  said  his  master  with  decision.  '  I 
hope  that  there  has  been  no  trifling  with  this 
girl's  affections.  I  say  that  I  hope ;  but  a  very 
few  more  words  from  you  and  that  hope  will  be 
faint.  What  my  lady  proposes  is  becoming  to 
one  so  high  in  position,  so  charitable,  as  she. 
You  shall  find  that  I  am  not  behindhand.  My 
mother's  urgent  business  may  call  me  shortly  to 
Mantua;  but  I  will  see  to  your  establishment  first. 
No  Galeotti  shall  be  called  a  niggard  to  his  ser- 
vants. If  this  is  your  first  affair  of  the  heart, 
Fabrizio,  I  trust  —  nay  I  will  see  to  it  —  that  it  is 
the  last.  You  have  won  a  young  woman  whom 
the  Lady  Camilla  can  praise :  see  that  you  deserve 
her.  Come,  cousin,  let  us  leave  the  lovers  to- 
gether.' He  offered  his  arm  to  Donna  Camilla 
and  led  her  away:  they  left  behind  them  a  very 
tongue-tied  pair  indeed. 

"  Fabrizio  scattered  gravel,  Estella  scattered 
gravel.  Fabrizio  inquired  of  the  skies,  Estella  of 
the  more  solid  earth. 

" '  If  it  were  not  for  my  mother,  young  woman 
'  Galeotto  began ;  then  stopped. 

" '  If  it  wasn't  for  my  father,  my  fine  fellow ' 

began  Estella;  then  swore. 

"  It  seemed  to  want  but  this  outbreak  on  the 
bride's  part  to  put  a  point  to  the  bridegroom's 
martyrdom. 

"  The  clouds  in  Mantua  gathered  so  fast  and  so 
black  that  any  sky  in  Venice  showed  light  by  the 
side  of  them.  The  Countess  Galeotti's  latest  letter 
may  be  cited. 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  243 

" '  Galeotto,'  she  wrote,  '  if  neither  religion  nor 
filial  piety  can  move  you,  I  cannot  suppose  that 
the  fingers  of  the  civil  power  in  your  collar  may 
do  so.  You  have  abandoned  your  mother  to 
vicarious  punishment,  you  have  disgraced  an 
ancient  lady,  an  ancient  name.  Farewell.  Any 
letter  you  choose  to  send  me  should  be  addressed 
to  the  Gabbia.' 

"  The  Gabbia,  your  ladyships  should  know,  was 
an  iron  cage,  six  feet  by  six,  which  hung  (and 
still  hangs)  outside  a  tower  in  Mantua  fifty  feet 
above  the  street-level.  To  think  of  the  Contessa 
Galeotti  in  it  was  to  think  of  birds;  and  so  Isotta, 
when  she  read  this  terrible  letter,  made  a  little 
clicking  noise  with  her  tongue.  She  brought 
Donna  Camilla  to  her  side  in  haste ;  but  Donna 
Camilla  was  not  one  to  stimulate  thought. 
Thought  just  then  was  urgent.  Isotta  made 
her  excuses  and  retired  to  pace  the  garden. 

" '  What  is  to  be  done  ? '  she  said  to  herself. 
'  Here  is  an  old  lady  in  the  Gabbia,  for  no  fault 
but  maternity.  Here,  consequently  (since  this 
outrages  our  common  humanity)  is  the  Gabbia 
for  Galeotto.  Does  he  deserve  so  much  ?  Surely 
not.  True,  he  thrust  his  adventure  upon  me, 
killed  my  father's  porter,  sent  me  in  disguise  to 
Venice.  If  any  one  deserves  the  cage  it  is 
Galeotto.  But  have  I  not  given  him  a  better, 
a  more  deserved  cage?  Have  I  not  contracted 
him  to  a  servant-girl  ?  Will  not  that  be  punish- 
ment enough  for  a  Count  of  the  Empire  ?  I  hope 
so ;  I  think  so.  It  will  teach  him,  at  least,  not  to 
trifle  with  the  affections  of  gentlewomen.  Very 
well  then.  It  follows  that  I  get  the  cage.  I  am 


244  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

no  bird ;  I  have  little  relish  for  it ;  but  what 
escape  is  there?  Marriage  with  Donna  Camilla? 
Yes:  that  is  the  only  plan.  It  will  be  a  very 
simple  affair.  She  has  great  influence  with  the 
Ten ;  the  Ten  are  allies  of  the  Mantuan  State. 
She  will  use  her  influence;  but  not  unless  I  marry 
her.  Spreta  injuriaformcz,  is  how  Galeotto  would 
explain  her  refusal  which  would  certainly  come 
plump  on  my  refusal.  Once  married,  she  will 
have  two  motives  to  help  us  —  my  danger  and 
her  own  dignity.  It  is  agreed,  then,  that  I  marry 
Donna  Camilla  at  the  approaching  fair.' 

"  As  fruit  of  this  self-communion  she  bore  a 
formal  proposal  of  her  hand  to  Donna  Camilla, 
which  was  tremulously  and  gratefully  accepted 
by  the  lady. 

"  The  sestiere  of  San-Pietro-in-Castello  lies  be- 
tween that  of  Saint  Mark  and  the  Lido.  It  was 
then  chiefly  populated  by  gondoliers  and  their 
families  and  enjoyed  a  singular  custom.  But 
then  it  had  been  the  scene  of  a  singular  event. 
Centuries  before,  the  Levantine  pirates  had  rav- 
ished brides  from  it;  and  in  memory  of  that 
picturesque  ceremony  the  Castellani  claimed  and 
held  the  same  privilege  on  the  anniversary.  Any 
man  could  marry  any  woman  on  that  day,  and 
many  most  effectively  did.  Row  facing  row  they 
lined  the  Piazza ;  the  maids  stood  loose-haired  in 
white,  each  with  her  dowry  in  a  box  over  her 
shoulder ;  the  suitors  came  to  choose ;  the  Patri- 
arch gave  them  a  blessing  and  a  sermon:  they 
were  married.  It  was  a  custom  of  plain  advan- 
tage to  others  besides  gondoliers  (an  easy  race) ; 
it  was  a  romantic  custom,  a  picturesque  custom ; 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  245 

it  was  at  once  simple,  secret,  and  unofficial.  Thus 
it  appealed  to  Donna  Camilla,  who  loved  romance, 
and  to  Isotta,  who  just  now  (in  her  character  of 
Galeotto)  aimed  at  simplicity.  Mixed  feelings 
are  to  be  expected  in  such  an  assembly  as  this, 
emotions  as  various  as  may  at  any  time  hold  sway 
over  the  human  breast ;  but  probably  Fabrizio  was 
the  most  rueful  bridegroom,  and  Estella  the  most 
truculent  bride,  San-Pietro-in-Castello  had  ever 
collected  for  benediction.  Donna  Camilla's  was 
a  perfectly  normal  case;  as  for  the  apparent 
Count  Galeotto,  we  have  seen  what  a  firm  per- 
ception of  the  logic  of  events  characterized  that 
distinguished  person. 

"  Desperate  efforts  were  made  by  the  unhappy 
Fabrizio  to  clear  himself.  He  essayed  the  lady 
of  his  election  and  the  lady  of  his  fate ;  the  result 
was  chagrin  in  the  first  case,  wounded  pride  in 
the  second.  Isotta  declined  to  discuss  his  affairs. 
She  did  not  recognize  her  own  name ;  she  spoke 
as  Galeotto  Galeotti.  '  You  have  chosen,  Fabrizio,' 
she  said, '  so  far  as  I  know,  a  perfectly  respectable 
girl.  If  a  porter  had  been  killed  for  a  sight  of 
her  eyes,  for  instance,  it  might  easily  have  been 
her  own  father.  I  congratulate  you  upon  your 
choice,  and  feel  sure  of  your  future.'  Estella 
seemed  to  take  no  interest  in  the  approaching 
ceremony.  When  he  asked  her,  as  tenderly  as 
he  could,  if  her  father  was  likely  to  be  present,  to 
his  great  surprise  she  grunted.  '  How  would  you 
like  your  mother  to  join  him  ? '  she  asked  in  turn. 
There  was  but  one  answer  to  this  for  a  man  of 
truth.  '  My  dear  Estella,  I  should  die/  he  said, 
deeply  moved.  '  Then  I  wish  she  would  come,' 


246  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Estella  had  replied :  an  extraordinarily  heartless 
reply.  He  painted  his  married  life  in  the 
gloomiest  colours;  but  then  so  did  the  bride 
paint  hers. 

"  The  maids  formed  up  in  a  long  row  of  white, 
for  all  the  world  like  a  snowy  chain  of  crocuses 
hemming  a  garden  path:  opposite  them  stood 
their  grooms,  sheepish,  shuffling  young  men  for 
the  most  part,  but  all  very  much  intent  on  the 
business  in  hand.  When  both  sermon  and  bless- 
ing were  done,  Jack  took  his  Gill,  or  Gill  her 
Jack,  as  might  be;  and  Fabrizio,  feeling  that 
something  was  required  of  the  Galeotti  fibre 
(even  though  smothered  up  in  fustian)  drew  his 
Estella's  arm  within  his  own  with  such  gallant 
observations  as  he  could  invent.  He  went  so 
far  as  to  salute  her  cheek,  but  met  with  neither 
response  nor  encouragement.  Donna  Camilla  re- 
ceived her  husband's  brisk  embrace  with  simple 
gratitude ;  then  the  whole  party  took  boat  for  the 
Palazzo  Galeotti  and  the  marriage  supper. 

"  That  was  felt  to  be,  by  two  of  the  four  at  least, 
the  latest  possible  moment  for  explanations.  Un- 
fortunately the  moment  was  more  urgently  re- 
quired by  three  officers  of  the  Secret  Police,  who 
demanded  by  name  Count  Galeotto  Galeotti,  and 
when  they  found  him  would  take  no  sort  of  denial. 
His  rank,  his  condition,  his  interesting  circum- 
stances, youth,  the  influence  of  his  lady — nothing 
could  stand  against  the  facts  on  which  they  leaned. 
The  Duke  of  Mantua  was  in  alliance  with  the 
Serene  Republic,  the  Serene  Republic  ordered 
her  ministers  to  convey  Galeotto  to  the  Duke. 

" '  My  lord,'  said  they, '  the  barge  is  at  the  steps. 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  247 

We  must  ask  your  Excellency  to  give  himself  the 
trouble  to  enter  it.  If  your  Excellency's  lady 
choose  to  accompany  you  we  can  hardly  deny 
her;  but  it  must  be  at  her  own  risk.' 

" '  I  dare  not  ask  you,  Camilla '  Isotta  began. 

" '  Ah,  you  dare  not  indeed,  Galeotto,  dearest 
husband,'  pleaded  the  lady,  'unless  you  wish  to 
procure  my  death.  Nothing  can  separate  us  from 
this  moment  short  of  that.' 

" '  I  have  not  the  heart  to  disprove  your  gener- 
ous fallacy,  my  dear,'  said  her  husband.  'Well 
then,  let  us  go.  Officer,  do  your  duty.'  They 
were  cloaked  and  led  away  by  the  officers.  There 
was  no  scandal. 

"  Half  an  hour  afterwards  arrived  the  old  Con- 
tessa  Galeotti,  dusty  and  terrible. 

" '  Where  is  my  deplorable  son  ? '  she  demanded 
fiercely  of  the  porter. 

"  *  I  have  not  the  least  notion,  madam,'  he  re- 
plied ;  '  I  see  you  for  the  first  time.' 

" '  You  are  extremely  dull,'  said  the  Countess. 
1 1  am  the  Contessa  Galeotti.' 

" '  Then,  madam,'  the  porter  said,  *  I  can  satisfy 
you,  I  think.-  Your  noble  son  is  in  the  police-boat 
with  his  wife,  going  chained  to  Mantua.' 

"  *  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,'  said  the  Contessa 
drily.  '  If  you  suppose  that  my  son  would  take  a 
wife  without  my  approval  you  know  very  little  of 
him,  and  still  less  of  me.  Produce  my  son.' 

"  The  porter  was  confused.  '  Love  of  God, 
madam,'  he  said, '  I  cannot  produce  your  honour- 
able son,  but  I  can  refer  you  to  his  man.  He  also 
has  been  married  to-day,  and  at  this  moment  is 
supping  with  his  wife.' 


248  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

" '  Take  me  down  to  this  supper-party/  said 
the  Contessa  grimly :  '  I  know  how  to  deal  with 
servants.' 

" '  I  can  well  believe  your  ladyship,'  said  the 
porter.  '  I  beg  your  ladyship  to  follow  me.' 

"  The  tap-tap  of  her  crutch  struck  like  a  knell 
on  the  ears  of  the  unfortunate  Fabrizio,  disturb- 
ing him  in  the  midst  of  an  absorbing  conversation. 
Much  as  it  ran  counter  to  his  fine  theory  of  man- 
ners he  was  forced  to  interrupt  his  companion. 

" '  My  dear  Eugenio,'  he  said  hurriedly,  '  if  that 
indeed  be  your  name,  yours  is  a  most  extraordi- 
nary case,  equal  with  mine  in  misfortune.  But 
there  are  worse  things  in  the  world  than  such  a 
marriage  as  ours,  and  one  of  them  (a  parent 
offended)  is  close  at  hand.  I  refer  to  the  approach 
of  my  sainted  mother.' 

" '  Zounds ! '  said  Eugenio,  '  is  that  her  famous 
crutch  ? ' 

"  *  I  fear  it,  I  fear  it,'  replied  the  perspiring 
young  man.  Eugenio  saw  that  he  certainly  did. 

"  '  Then  I'll  be  running,  my  lord,'  says  he ;  but 
Galeotto  whipped  his  arms  round  his  middle. 

" '  Let  me  entreat,  let  me  implore  your  coun- 
tenance, Eugenio,'  he  said  warmly.  '  The  very 
gravest  consequences  are  to  be  feared ' 

" '  Let  me  go,  let  me  go ! '  cried  Eugenio. 
'  What  the  devil  have  I  to  do  with  your  conse- 
quences ?  Do  you  think  I  don't  value  my  skin 
as  much  as  yours  ? ' 

"  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  suggestive  struggle, 
that  the  Countess  appeared  at  the  door,  and  fixed 
her  piercing  eyes  on  what  she  witnessed. 

"  For  a  short  time  she  looked  terribly  on,  resem- 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFORESTS  TALE  249 

bling  most  a  wicked  old  bird  that  meditates  attack, 
and  holds  his  beak  half -open  for  the  pounce.  The 
detected  Galeotto  dropped  his  companion  as  if  he 
had  been  a  live  cinder. 

"  *  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself  ? '  asks 
the  Countess  in  a  dry  voice.  Galeotto  assumed 
a  suffering  expression. 

" '  It  seems,  mamma  mia,'  said  he,  *  that  I  have 
accidentally  married  this  young  gentleman.' 

" '  You  are  the  greatest  fool  in  Europe,'  said 
the  Countess,  '  and  I  speak  as  the  widow  of  your 
father.  Pray,  in  what  capacity  do  you  stand? 
As  husband  or  wife  ? ' 

"  Galeotto  made  the  most  of  his  opening. 

" '  I  see  the  difficulty,'  he  said  as  dispassionately 
as  he  could.  '  It  is  a  very  real  one.  Eugenio,  my 
friend,  how  do  you  take  it  ? ' 

"'  I  take  it  very  ill,'  said  Eugenio  sulkily:  'but 
I  agree  with  her  ladyship's  criticism.' 

"  Galeotto  spread  out  his  hands.  '  You  see  how 
it  is,  mamma  mia,'  he  began.  The  Countess  cut 
him  short. 

" '  I  very  soon  shall,  I  assure  you,'  she  said. 
*  Somebody  has  gone  off  to  Mantua  masquerading 
in  your  name.  He  will  have  fresh  air  for  his  per- 
formance, and  a  fine  auditorium ;  but  the  stage  is 

limited.  As  for  you,  little  turnspit '  She 

faced  to  Eugenio,  but  Eugenio  had  disappeared. 

" '  That  is  a  prudent  young  man,'  said  the 
Countess,  '  there  may  be  hopes  of  him  yet.  Now, 
Galeotto,  my  bark  is  waiting :  march.  But  I  must 
see  Donna  Camilla  —  where  is  your  cousin?' 

" '  Mamma  mia,  she  should  be  in  the  saloon,' 
said  Galeotto.  '  But  she  also  is  the  victim  of 


250  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

circumstances,  having  to-day  married  Madonna 
Isotta  BeltrafH,  a  young  lady  of  great  personal 
attractions.  I  can  explain  these  unfortunate 
events ' 

" '  I  wish  you  could  explain  how  you  come  to  be 
my  son,'  said  the  Countess.  '  That  is  the  most 
unfortunate  event  of  all,  to  my  mind.'  She  turned 
to  the  porter,  '  Where  is  your  mistress  ? '  she  asks 
him. 

" '  Madam,'  he  replied,  '  I  have  told  you  already 
that  she  is  gone  to  Mantua  with  my  lord  her 
husband.  It  appears  that  there  is  some  difficulty 
there.  At  any  rate  my  mistress  is  accompanied 
by  three  of  the  Secret  Police.' 

"  The  Contessa  looked  sharply  at  Galeotto, 
whose  face  showed,  of  sufferance  three  parts,  of 
interest  three  parts,  and  of  pain  six  parts. 

" '  I  really  begin  to  believe  that  you  are  not 
quite  the  idiot  I  took  you  for,'  said  she.  '  Go 
before  me  to  the  boat:  off  with  you.' 

" '  Benissimo,  mamma  mia,'  said  Galeotto. 

"  There  was  no  opportunity  for  discourse  be- 
tween the  prisoners  upon  a  matter  so  delicate  as 
the  sex  of  Donna  Camilla's  husband  during  the 
passage  from  Venice  to  Mantua.  The  near  pres- 
ence of  three  members  of  the  Secret  Police  would 
have  been  enough  to  maintain  Isotta's  reserve. 
'  These  honest  fellows,'  she  would  have  said,  '  be- 
lieve with  Donna  Camilla  that  the  Count  Galeotti 
has  been  secured.  To  undeceive  them  now  would 
be  heartless ;  to  undeceive  my  wife  would  be  to 
cause  her  fruitless  distress.  How  could  I  deny 
Donna  Camilla  the  consolations  of  fidelity  ? ' 
That  tender-hearted  soul  sat  huddling  by  her 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  251 

husband  —  cold,  dissolved  in  tears,  shuddering 
under  intermittent  attacks  of  nerves,  never  far 
from  hysterics,  buoyed  up  only  by  the  thought 
that  she  was  acting  the  pattern  wife.  Over  and 
over  again  she  assured  Isotta  that  she  would 
never  desert  her.  '  When  you  are  in  your  airy 
prison,  dearest,'  said  she,  '  I  shall  be  sitting  on 
the  ground  beneath  you.  I  shall  look  up  and 
see  the  soles  of  your  beloved  feet;  you  will 
look  down,  and  (if  the  weather  be  favourable) 
see  the  tears  in  my  eyes.  A  great  deal  of  com- 
fort ought  to  pass  from  one  to  another  in  this 
way.' 

" '  I  am  sure  of  it,  Camilla,'  Isotta  replied.  '  But 
your  plan  is  almost  too  heroic  for  Mantua.  Con- 
sider, my  love,  the  Tower  of  the  Gabbia  is  situated 
in  the  Via  Broletto,  a  street  nearly  as  bustling  as 
the  Merceria  of  your  Venice.  It  connects  two 
markets.  It  is  the  highway  to  the  Castello  di 
Corte.  My  lodging  will  be  out  of  shot  of  the 
passers-by,  but  yours,  if  on  the  ground,  must  in- 
vite comment.  How  can  you  endure  it?  Or 
how  can  I  be  witness  of  what  you  will  have  to 
bear?' 

"'You  can  look  the  other  way,  dearest  Gale- 
otto,'  she  said,  weeping,  '  and  I  can  mingle  tears 
with  the  Mantuans,  or  importune  the  Duke  as  he 
passes.' 

"'You  are  sanguine,  my  Camilla,'  said  Isotta 
with  resignation.  '  I  cannot  deny  you.' 

"  A  searching  night-wind  blew  over  the  lagoon ; 
the  moonlight  revealed  little  curling  waves,  cold 
and  angry.  Camilla  and  Isotta  sat  cuddling  in 
one  cloak  until  the  former  fell  asleep  with  her 


252  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

head  on  her  companion's  shoulder.  One  of  the 
officers,  disturbed  by  Isotta's  sniffing,  handed  her 
a  flask  of  strong  waters. 

" '  Thank  you,  my  friend,'  said  she.  '  What 
sail  is  that  coming  up  behind  us  ?  They  will 
overhaul  us,  it  seems.' 

" '  That,  my  lord,'  said  the  man,  '  will  be  the 
Contessa's,  your  lady  mother's  family  barge.  I 
know  the  rig  of  that  lateen.  It  is  a  great  stretch 
of  cloth,  but  I  think  we  shall  hold  her  yet.' 

"  '  The  Contessa ! '  thought  Isotta.  '  Then  she 
has  escaped  the  cage ;  but  by  the  same  token  my 
poor  Fabrizio  has  not  escaped.  He  is  now  in 
two  cages,  his  wife's  and  his  mother's.  Obviously 
I  do  well  to  save  him  from  a  third.'  So  musing, 
she  fell  asleep. 

"  The  police-boat  held  the  barge  throughout 
the  night,  and  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning, 
by  stealing  what  wind  there  was  managed  not 
only  to  outsail  her,  but  very  dextrously  to  run  her 
aground  on  a  mud-bank.  There  she  had  to  await 
the  tide  while  the  lighter  vessel  was  skimming  the 
silver  stretches  of  the  Mantuan  lake,  with  the  red- 
walled  city  in  full  sight.  By  the  time  the  Con- 
tessa Galeotti  was  at  home  again,  with  the  key  of 
Galeotto's  chamber  in  her  pocket,  Isotta  was 
admiring  the  view  from  the  top  of  the  Gabbia 
Tower  and  the  citizens  admiring  Donna  Camilla 
at  the  bottom  of  it.  It  was  open  to  the  iron-faced 
old  lady  to  join  them,  when  she  presently  came  in 
a  litter,  some  Archers  of  the  Guard  in  attendance, 
and  a  permit  to  visit  the  prisoner  in  her  hand. 
But  the  exhibition  of  Donna  Camilla  on  the 
ground  did  not  entertain  her. 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFORESTS  TALE  253 

"  *  Who  is  this  natural  ? '  she  asked  of  a  by- 
stander. 

" '  Eh,  madam,  who  knows  if  not  your  lady- 
ship ? '  was  the  answer.  '  I  take  her  to  be  wife  of 
the  deplorable  gentleman  above.' 

"  '  Wife  of  a  pig ! '  said  the  Countess  with  some 
heat.  c  Is  the  name  of  Galeotti  to  be  brayed  over 
Mantua  by  donkeys  ? ' 

"  Donna  Camilla,  hearing  her  own  name,  came 
forward  and  clasped  the  Contessa's  knees. 

"'  I  adjure  you,  my  mother,  help  your  unfortu- 
nate son  ! '  she  cried. 

" '  I  have  helped  him,'  said  the  Countess  grimly. 

" '  Mercy  shall  be  called  Galeotti  from  this 
hour.  You  will  save  him  from  the  cage,  I  know 
it.' 

"  Donna  Camilla  rose  triumphant  from  her 
griefs. 

" '  On  the  contrary,  I  have  put  him  in  one, 
young  lady,'  said  the  Countess;  'and  am  now 
going  to  transfer  him  to  another.'  Donna  Ca- 
milla sat  down. 

" '  You  have  a  heart  of  stone,'  said  she.  '  For 
my  part,  I  will  never  leave  this  spot  until  my 
husband  is  restored  to  my  arms.' 

" '  Then  you  won't  leave  it  at  all,  my  lady,' 
remarked  the  Countess,  chuckling.  She  went 
into  the  tower  and  left  Donna  Camilla  to  the 
contemplation  of  Isotta's  footsoles. 

"  There  are  one  hundred  and  thirteen  steps  from 
the  ground  to  the  cage  door ;  but  the  Countess 
surmounted  them,  having  been  lent  by  rage  what 
breath  had  taken  away.  Rage  remained  though 
breath  did  not  when  the  prisoner  was  haled  out 


254  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

at  command,  and  revealed  to  the  panting  old 
lady  a  dark-skinned  slim  youth  (to  all  appearance), 
very  composed. 

"  The  Countess  was  not  composed.  '  Have 
done  with  this  mummery,'  she  snapped.  '  You  are 
a  woman.' 

" '  It  is  hardly  for  your  ladyship  to  reproach  me 
with  that,'  Isotta  replied. 

" '  I  am  not  here  to  play  shuttlecock,'  said 
the  Countess.  '  What  is  the  meaning  of  this 
knavery  ? ' 

" '  It  is  not  knavery,  but  logic  that  has  brought 
me  here,'  Isotta  observed,  '  as  you  will  allow, 
madam,  if  you  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.' 

" '  Upon  my  word,  young  woman,'  said  the 
Countess,  '  if  you  can  make  that  good  I  shall  be 
interested.  Go  on.' 

"  Isotta  told  the  whole  of  her  story,  concluding 
with  these  words :  — '  Your  son,  Countess,  has 
acted  throughout  in  what  I  must  call  a  spirit  of 
levity.  If  he  must  needs  kill  a  porter,  he  need 
not  have  killed  my  father's  favourite  porter.  But 
why  kill  a  porter  at  all  ?  He  might  have  asked 
me  to  look  out  of  the  window :  I  should  certainly 
have  obliged  him.  But,  having  done  so,  having 
gone  with  me  to  Venice  with  professions  of  respect 
on  his  lips,  what  must  he  do  but  begin  a  vulgar 
intrigue  with  a  waiting  woman  ?  I  wished  to 
punish  him  for  that,  and  I  have  done  so.  You 
suffer  also ;  I  regret  it.  But  at  least  he  will  kill 
no  more  porters,  and  turn  the  heads  of  no  more 
ladies.  His  wife  will  see  to  that.' 

" '  His  mother  would  have  seen  to  it,'  said  the 
Countess.  '  My  dear,  you  have  reasoned  admira- 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  255 

bly  up  to  your  point.  So  far  I  congratulate  you. 
But  you  have  married  my  son  to  a  young  man. 
Your  Estella  has  changed  sex  as  well  as  you.' 

" '  Why  did  he  do  that  ? '  asked  Isotta,  much 
interested. 

" '  It  seems  that  he  had  a  thought  of  falling  in 
love  with  my  niece,  and  wished  to  judge  of  her 
domesticity,'  said  the  Countess. 

'"If  I  could  find  that  young  man,'  cried  Isotta, 
' 1  should  certainly  marry  him  myself.' 

" '  You  are  not  likely  to  do  that,  my  friend,' 
the  Countess  informed  her.  '  Master  has  bolted.' 

"  '  He  must  be  found,'  Isotta  said,  *  he  is  much 
too  ingenious  to  be  lost.' 

"  The  Countess  took  her  hand. 

"'  Marry  my  son,'  she  urged, '  you  will  be  excel- 
lent with  him.  I  am  getting  too  old  for  estate 
management :  I  need  a  steward.  I  do  hope  you 
will  think  of  it.  I  will  go  down  on  my  sound 
knee  if  you  insist,  although  I  would  much  rather 
not.' 

" '  I  would  oblige  you  without  such  a  condescen- 
sion, dear  Countess,'  Isotta  assured  her,  '  if  I  could 
see  my  way.  The  truth  is  that  I  have  no  sort  of 
interest  in  your  son  beyond  the  fact  that  your  son 
he  is.  But  I  will  think  of  it.  Meantime,  if  you 
can  have  me  extricated  from  this  place  I  shall  be 
very  much  obliged  to  you.' 

"'In  two  minutes!'  cried  the  Countess,  and 
then  and  there  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Duke. 

"  I  return  to  Galeotto,  left  under  lock  and  key 
in  the  palace  of  his  ancestors.  You  little  know 
that  gentleman  if  you  think  that  he  could  bring 
himself  to  remain  there.  Pacing  up  and  down 


256  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

his  chamber,  he  allowed  full  play  to  the  agitations 
of  his  mind. 

" '  I  adore  my  mother,  not  only  as  the  source  of 
my  being,  but  as  a  moral  spectacle,'  he  told  him- 
self. '  I  find  in  her  a  superior  order  of  mind,  a 
force  of  character  really  remarkable  in  a  woman. 
Not  only  respect,  reason  also,  counsels  me  to 
remain  a  prisoner.  But  the  question  arises,  can  I 
let  the  beautiful  (if  headstrong)  Isotta  suffer  for 
my  fault,  because  she  happens  to  stand  up  in  my 
small-clothes  ?  Cruel  in  intention  as  she  has  been 
to  me,  the  thought  is  unendurable.  She  is  no 
doubt  at  this  moment  in  the  Gabbia  on  a  capital 
charge,  she  stands  within  the  peril  of  the  law. 
Either  she  must  be  released  or  I  suffer  with  her. 
It  is  plain  that,  while  the  former  is  out  of  my 
power,  the  latter  is  within  it.  I  must  escape  from 
this  house  and  place  myself  immediately  below 
the  cage.  It  is  a  hateful  prospect ;  but  the  con- 
templation of  her  charming  form  exposed  to  the 
contempt  of  the  very  birds  will  strengthen  me  for 
what  I  am  about  to  do.  It  must  never  be  said  of 
a  Galeotti  that  he  allowed  a  gentlewoman  to  suffer 
without  enduring  equal  pains  himself.  Nor  must 
I  forget  that  I  love  her.  My  mother  has  locked 
the  door,  and  quite  rightly,  since  she  wished  to 
keep  me  in.  I,  with  equal  propriety,  will  essay  the 
window,  since  I  wish  to  get  out/ 

"  He  dressed  himself  with  pains  in  a  suit  of  rich 
green  velvet,  arranged  his  hair,  put  on  a  pair  of 
scarlet  shoes,  and  then  by  means  of  a  gutter,  some 
cords  and  a  small  section  of  the  litany  reached  the 
ground  in  safety.  He  was  not  long  cutting  his 
way  through  the  crowds  in  the  Via  Broletto  and 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  257 

so  being  seen  by  Donna  Camilla.  To  her,  who 
had  nearly  exhausted  her  comments  upon  the 
melancholy  situation,  his  appearance  acted  like  the 
rod  of  Moses.  Eloquence  gushed  from  her ;  she 
rose  to  address  the  attentive  citizens.  '  See  in  this, 
Mantuans,'  she  declared,  '  a  deed  worthy  of  Ro- 
man record.  Behold  the  faithful  servant  of  a  good 
master !  Rejoice  all  of  you,  masters,  and  take 
heart  all  you  servants ;  for  where  there  is  one  there 
may  be  another.  Fabrizio,  Fabrizio,  jocund  is  the 
ministry  of  thy  feet !  An  honest  lacquey  has  been 
a  contradiction  in  terms  until  by  this  glorious 
example  thou  hast  affirmed  it.' 

" '  Madam,'  said  Galeotto,  taking  a  seat  beside 
her  on  the  ground,  '  it  is  true  that  I  have  come 
to  suffer  in  this  place,  thinking  myself  happy  to 
be  where  my  duty  binds  me.  It  is  true  that  I 
hope  by  this  means  to  alleviate  the  pains  of  the 
martyr  above  us.  But  I  dare  not  pretend  to  the 
splendid  office  you  propose  me.  Madam,  I  am  no 
servant,  I  am  no  Fabrizio:  I  am  your  unhappy, 
your  afflicted  cousin  Galeotto  Galeotti.' 

"  Donna  Camilla  gasped  —  '  But  my  hus- 
band  ' 

"'Cousin,'  said  Galeotto,  'we  are  performing 
paradoxes,  it  seems.  Your  husband,  if  I  may  say 
so,  has  to  name  Isotta  Beltraffi.  He,  or  rather  she, 
is  daughter  to  a  respectable  merchant  of  this  place, 
Messer  Domenica  Beltraffi,  whose  favourite  porter 
I  had  the  misfortune  to  kill.' 

"  '  Is  it  so  ? '  cried  Donna  Camilla.  '  Then  my 
husband  is  innocent ! '  She  could  only,  as  you 
see,  take  one  point  at  a  time. 

" '  She  is  as  innocent  as  you  are,'  replied  Gale- 


258  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

otto.  '  It  is  I  who  should  occupy  her  room ;  but 
since  I  cannot  do  that  I  have  put  myself  as  near 
to  it  as  I  can.  This  ground  is  very  damp :  it  will 
endanger  my  health  fully  as  much  as  the  cage 
could  do.  But  I  deemed  it  my  duty.  Moreover, 
I  am  close  at  hand  in  case  it  should  occur  to  the 
authorities  to  arrest  me.' 

" '  You  have  done  a  very  noble  act,  Galeotto,' 
said  Donna  Camilla,  warmly. 

"'I  hope  so,  I  hope  so,'  he  returned.  *  I  could 
do  no  less,  Camilla.  The  lady  above  us  has  done 
a  noble  act ;  you  have  done  a  noble  act.  Noble 
acts  are  in  the  air.' 

"  *  They  are,  indeed,'  she  assented.  '  But  what 
have  you  done  with  my  Estella?  Is  she  acting 
nobly  anywhere  ? ' 

"  *  I  doubt  it,'  said  Galeotto.  *  The  acts  of  Es- 
tella (since  you  call  him  so)  have  been  character- 
ized by  prudence  rather  than  gallantry.  He  did 
not  accompany  me  from  Venice.  But  I  see  that  I 

surprise  you.  Know  then '  And  he  explained 

the  nature  of  his  marriage  to  the  astonished  lady, 
who,  when  she  had  sufficiently  recovered,  said  — 

" '  One  thing  is  clear  to  me  in  all  this  entangle- 
ment. Madam  Isotta  must  be  released.  You  did 
the  deed ;  you  must  suffer.' 

" '  Eh,'  cried  Galeotto,  '  but  I  am  suffering ! ' 

"  *  I  had  hoped,'  said  Donna  Camilla,  '  that  my 
company  might  have  distracted  you.  But  if  it 
does  not,  I  must  again  admire  your  heroic  resolu- 
tion to  undergo  without  flinching  whatever  may 
be  due.' 

"  Galeotto  kissed  her  hand,  and  the  citizens 
cheered  the  exalted  pair. 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  259 

"A  messenger  from  the  Duke  very  shortly 
afterwards  brought  down  the  Countess  with 
Isotta.  The,  order  was  for  the  whole  company 
to  appear  before  him.  The  Countess  surveyed 
her  son. 

"  *  What  are  you  doing  here,  jackanapes  ? '  she 
asked. 

" '  I  am  suffering,  mamma  mia,'  he  replied,  '  on 
account  of  the  injured  lady  whose  arm  you  now 
so  kindly  hold.' 

" '  The  kindness/  said  the  Contessa,  '  is  all  the 
other  way.  She  might  hold  the  Duke's  arm  with 
condescension.  Get  up,  idiot,  we  are  summoned 
to  Court.  Come  and  explain  yourself  if  you 
can.' 

"  She  hobbled  off  on  Isotta's  arm;  and  Galeotto, 
offering  his  to  Donna  Camilla,  found  it  tenderly 
accepted. 

"  The  whole  matter  was  laid  before  Duke  Guido 
Gonzaga,  who  had  some  difficulty  in  singling  out 
what  was,  after  all,  the  real  point  at  issue.  He 
found  himself  very  unwilling  to  accept  Galeotto's 
excuse  for  his  precipitate  action,  and  it  was  only 
when  he  elicited  in  casual  conversation  the  facts 
that  (i)  the  porter  had  jostled  against  the  Count 
in  the  Via  Larga,  (2)  that  a  friar  of  the  bystanders 
had  laughed,  and  that  (3)  the  porter  was  not  dead, 
that  he  felt  at  liberty  to  consider  the  case  as  one 
of  justifiable  potential  homicide,  for  which  the 
Statute  Book  of  Mantua  exacted  no  penalty.  After 
that  all  other  difficulties  seemed  light.  Turning 
to  the  Countess  he  said,  '  It  is  clear,  madam,  that 
all  these  persons  are  married  by  the  laws  of 
Venice.  Venice  being  in  alliance  with  Mantua, 


260  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

it  becomes  me  to  see  that  her  laws  are  observed. 
This  I  will  do,  with  such  latitude,  however,  as 
may  reasonably  be  allowed  to  a  sovereign  prince. 
I  must  regard  Madonna  Isotta  as  the  protagonist 
in  this  drama.  She  must  come  first.  To  Madonna 
Isotta,  therefore,  I  offer  the  hand  and  heart  of 
Count  Galeotto  Galeotti.' 

" '  I  humbly  thank  your  Grace,'  said  Isotta ;  '  but 
we  choose  as  our  characters  make  us.  A  man 
who  could  be  such  a  fool  as  to  endanger  his  neck 
twice  for  my  sake  is  clearly  no  husband  for  a  girl 
of  my  habit.  I  must  gratefully  decline  your 
Grace's  offer  and  transfer  Messer  Galeotto  to  the 
care  of  Donna  Camilla.  I  consider,  on  the  other 
hand,  Eugenio  to  be  a  youth  of  prudence  and 
great  promise.  If  I  can  find  him  I  shall  cer- 
tainly do  my  best  to  possess  him.' 

" '  I  shall  yet  congratulate  Eugenio,'  said  the 
Countess,  'on  a  wife  of  sense.' 

" '  What  do  you  say,  Donna  Camilla  ? '  asked 
the  Duke. 

"  Donna  Camilla  had  been  very  much  struck  by 
her  cousin's  chivalry  in  the  affair.  Especially  this 
latest  act  of  his  had  moved  her  admiration. 

" '  It  was  very  fine  in  him,'  she  declared.  '  The 
cage  must  necessarily  be  draughty,  and  I  under- 
stand his  chest  is  delicate.  I  should  be  proud  to 
become  the  wife  of  such  a  man.' 

"  So  it  was  put  to  Galeotto,  who  replied  as  you 
would  expect,  that  he  was  at  the  service  of  these 
ladies. 

"  Eugenio  was  not  found  for  some  six  months, 
though  Isotta  hunted  him  high  and  low.  Finally 
he  was  reported  at  Battaglia,  where  indeed  he  was 


PERCIVAL  PERCEFOREST'S  TALE  261 

discovered  acting  as  dry-nurse  to  a  wine-grower's 
young  family,  passing  by  the  name  of  Beppina,  and 
a  general  favourite.  When  Isotta  claimed  him 
there  was  a  momentary  confusion  inasmuch  as 
several  townsmen  of  substance  (one  being  notary- 
public)  had  aspired  to  his  hand;  but  there  was  no 
withstanding  facts.  Isotta  led  him  to  Mantua, 
married  him,  and  treated  him  with  kindly  firmness 
for  many  years.  He  had  no  cause  to  lament  her 
choice,  although  he  was  never  able  to  share  her 
cordial  appreciation  of  the  Contessa. 

"  That  same  Contessa  Galeotti  lived  to  a  frosty 
old  age.  Her  syllogisms  upon  the  facts  recorded 

—  the  result  of  a  long  observation  of  our  species, 
more  remarkable,  perhaps,  for  shrewdness    than 
a  nice  understanding  of  the  system  of  Aristotle 

—  may  be   thus   expressed.      They   are   two   in 
number:  — 

"  a.  All  men  are  fools.  But  my  son  is  a  great 
fool.  Therefore,  my  son  is  a  great  man. 

"/?.  All  men  are  fools.  But  Eugenic  is  no  fool. 
Therefore,  Eugenic  is  not  a  man  at  all." 

This  truly  remarkable  tale,  which  was  followed 
with  the  closest  interest  by  the  party, — each  feeling 
that  he  or  she  might  be  touched  in  some  secret  part 
or  other,  —  lasted  well  on  towards  supper-time. 
It  was  not  ended,  indeed,  until  our  pilgrims  were 
within  the  Prior's  parlour  at  Christchurch,  and 
within  the  fragrant  aura  of  the  great  Saint  whom 
they  had  sought  for  so  many  days.  Here,  regret- 
fully, I  must  leave  them,  for  my  pen  is  dry.  There 
was  much  for  them  to  do  besides  their  prayers. 
The  Prioress  was  to  be  shown  that  Piers  was  not 


262  NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

Piers,  but  Percival ;  the  Shipman  convinced  that 
Percival  was  not  Jenny  Perceforest ;  Captain 
Brazenhead  was  to  be  either  hanged  or  ennobled; 
Percival  himself  either  kissed  or  kicked.  But  so 
it  is  in  this  world,  that  we  cannot  have  everything. 
We  meet  with  persons  here  and  there  on  our 
pilgrimages;  we  get  entertainment  out  of  them,  or 
they  out  of  us.  They  go  their  ways,  we  go  ours. 
At  any  rate,  I  must  go  mine.  Valete. 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 
RICHARD    YEA    AND    NAY 

By  MAURICE  HEWLETT 
Author  of  "The  Forest  Lovers?  "Little  Novels  of  Italy,"  etc. 

Cloth.    12mo.    $1.50 


"  The  hero  of  Mr.  Hewlett's  latest  novel  is  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  whose 
character  is  peculiarly  suited  to  the  author's  style.  It  is  on  a  much  wider 
plan  than  '  The  Forest  Lovers,'  and  while  not  historical  in  the  sense  of 
attempting  to  follow  events  with  utmost  exactness,  it  will  be  found  to  give 
an  accurate  portrayal  of  the  life  of  the  day,  such  as  might  well  be  expected 
from  the  author's  previous  work.  There  is  a  varied  and  brilliant  back- 
ground, the  scene  shifting  from  France  to  England,  and  also  to  Palestine. 
In  a  picturesque  way,  and  a  way  that  compels  the  sympathies  of  his  readers, 
Mr.  Hewlett  reads  into  the  heart  of  King  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  showing 
how  he  was  torn  by  two  natures  and  how  the  title  '  Yea  and  Nay '  was 
peculiarly  significant  of  his  character."  —  Boston  Herald. 

"  The  tale  by  itself  is  marvellously  told  ;  full  of  luminous  poetry ; 
intensely  human  in  its  passion  ;  its  style,  forceful  and  picturesque  ;  its 
background,  a  picture  of  beauty  and  mysterious  loveliness ;  the  whole, 
radiant  with  the  very  spirit  of  romanticism  as  lofty  in  tone  and  as  serious 
in  purpose  as  an  epic  poem.  It  is  a  book  that  stands  head  and  shoulders 
above  the  common  herd  of  novels  —  the  work  of  a  master  hand."  — 
Indianapolis  News, 

"  Mr.  Hewlett  has  done  one  of  the  most  notable  things  in  recent  litera- 
ture, a  thing  to  talk  about  with  abated  breath,  as  a  bit  of  master-craftsman- 
ship touched  by  the  splendid  dignity  of  real  creation."  —  The  Interior. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 


THE  FOREST  LOVERS 

BY 
MAURICE  HEWLETT 

12mo.      Cloth.      $1.50 


"A  series  of  adventures  as  original  as  they  are  romantic.  .  .  . 
'The  Forest  Lovers '  is  a  piece  of  ancient  arras  ;  a  thing  mysteriously 
beautiful,  a  book  that  is  real,  and,  at  the  same  time,  radiant  with 
poetry  and  art.  'The  Forest  Lovers'  will  be  read  with  admiration, 
and  preserved  with  something  more  than  respect."  —  The  Tribune, 
New  York. 

"  A  story  compounded  of  many  kinds  of  beauty.  It  has,  to  begin 
with,  enchanting  beauty  of  background  ;  or  rather,  it  moves  through 
a  beautiful  world,  the  play  of  whose  life  upon  it  is  subtle,  beguiling, 
and  magical.  .  .  .  The  story  has  a  beautiful  quality  both  of  spirit 
and  of  form."  —  The  Outlook. 

"  The  book  is  a  joy  to  read  and  to  remember,  a  source  of  clean 
and  pure  delight  to  the  spiritual  sense,  a  triumph  of  romance  reduced 
to  the  essentials,  and  interpreted  with  a  mastery  of  expression  that 
is  well  nigh  beyond  praise."  —  The  Dial. 

"  There  is  a  freshness,  a  vivacity  about  the  narrative  itself,  as  well 
as  about  the  style,  that  carries  the  reader  more  or  less  breathlessly 
along  from  one  thrilling  scene  to  another,  and  leaves  him  at  the  end 
with  little  disposition  to  lay  down  the  book.  We  sincerely  commis- 
erate the  jaded  reader  who  cannot  find  amusement  in  the  '  Forest 
Lovers.' "  —  The  Critic. 

JAMES  LANE  ALLEN  says: 

"  This  work,  for  any  one  of  several  solid  reasons,  must  be  regarded 
as  of  very  unusual  interest.  In  the  matter  of  style  alone,  it  is  an 
achievement,  an  extraordinary  achievement  ...  in  the  matter  of 
interpreting  nature  there  are  passages  in  this  book  that  I  have  never 
seen  surpassed  in  prose  fiction." 

HAMILTON  W.  MABIE  says: 

"  The  plot  is  boldly  conceived  and  strongly  sustained ;  the  char- 
acters are  vigorously  drawn  and  are  thrown  into  striking  con- 
trast. ...  It  leads  the  reader  far  from  the  dusty  highway;  it  is 
touched  with  the  penetrating  power  of  the  imagination;  it  has 
human  interest  and  idyllic  loveliness."  —  Book  Reviews. 


THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

66  FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


LITTLE  NOVELS  OF  ITALY 


BY 

MAURICE  HEWLETT 
12mo.       Cloth.       $1.50 


"  Among  the  younger  writers  of  fiction  there  are  two  men  whose 
works  are  of  inspiration  all  compact.  They  are  Rudyard  Kipling 
and  Maurice  Hewlett.  .  .  .  Both  these  writers  are  faithful  to  human 
nature,  which  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  great  art  and  literature.  In 
Kipling  the  dominant  ideal  seems  to  be  that  of  truth,  in  Hewlett  it 
is  beauty  ('truth  seen  from  another  side').  ...  In  the  writings 
of  the  former,  truth  emerges  in  naked  force;  with  the  author  of 
'  Little  Novels  of  Italy,'  it  comes  forth  adorned  with  the  flowers  of 
art  and  poetry,  clad  in  the  shimmering  cloth  of  gold  of  the  Italian 
Renaissance." — The  Tribune,  New  York. 

"There  is  imagination  luminous  with  poetry  and  art  in  this  singu- 
larly romantic  collection  of  short  stories.  In  the  matter  of  style 
alone,  Mr.  Hewlett  accomplishes  much  that  is  wonderful  in  its  deli- 
cacy and  loveliness ;  yet  he  deals  with  intensely  human  passions  — 
passions  that  with  a  less  delicate  perceptive  touch  or  sensitiveness 
to  the  divine  in  human  suffering  would  be  base  and  sordid."  — 
Boston  Herald. 

"  Mr.  Hewlett  is  one  of  those  rare  and  happy  authors  who  can 
make  niches  for  themselves  quite  apart  from  the  ordinary  trend  of 
literature,  where  invidious  comparisons  cannot  reach  them.  The 
quaint,  mediaeval  quality  of  his  'Forest  Lovers'  has  cast  its  spell 
over  countless  readers,  even  while  they  questioned  wherein  that 
spell  could  lie ;  and  so  it  is  with  his  latest  volume."  —  Commercial 
Advertiser. 

"  The  style  is  forceful  and  picturesque,  and  the  stories  are  so  true 
to  their  locality  that  they  read  almost  like  translations."  —  New  York 
Times. 

THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


Being  Impressions  and  Translations  of  Maurice  Hewlett,  with 
Illustrations  by  James  Kerr  Lawson 

Cloth.     i2mo.    $2.00 
Also  bound  uniform  with  the  Eversley  Series,  price  $1.50 

CONTENTS 


Proem  —  Apologia  pro  libello. 
I.   Eye  of  Italy. 
II.    Little  Flowers. 

III.  A  Sacrifice  at  Prato. 

IV.  Of  Poets  and  Needlework. 
V.   Of  Boils  and  the  Ideal. 

VI.  The  Soul  of  a  Fact. 
VII.  Quattrocentisteria. 


VIII.  The  Burden  of  New  Tyre. 
IX.   Ilaria,  Mariota,  Bettina. 
X.   Cats. 

XL  The  Soul  of  a  City. 
XII.   With  the  Brown  Bear. 
XIII.   Dead  Churches  in  Foligno. 
Envoy :  To  all  you  ladies. 


PAN  AND  THE  YOUNG  SHEPHERD 

A  PASTORAL  IN  TWO  ACTS 
Cloth.     1 2  mo.     $1.25 


SONGS  AND  MEDITATIONS 

Cloth.     i2ino.    $1.25 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 


*  LIBRARY,  LOS   **T' 


UCLA-College  Library 

PR  4787  N42  1901 


College 
Library 

PR 


L  005  703  556  0 


1901 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIUTY 
III    I    II    III    II    III    II     II 


